
The author and his mother, with the National Amateur and 
Open championship trophies |"the "Double Crown"] won in 1920. 



Chick Evans' 
Golf Book 



The Story of the Sporting Battles 

of the Greatest of all 

Amateur Golfers 



BY 
CHARLES (CHICK) EVANS, Jr. 



Sixty -fiv e Illustrations 



Published for 

THOS. E. WILSON & CO. 

New York San Francisco Chicago 

by 

The Reilly & Lee Co. 
Chicago 



G$ 



Copyright, 1921 

by 

Thos. E. Wilson & Co. 



All Rights Reserved 



Made in V. 8. A, 



Chick Evan's Golf Booh 

M?,R 28 1921 
©CS.A611371 



TO MY MOT UFA: 

W'lio has shared in all my joys and sorrows, my trials, 

failures and acJiicvcmcnts ; and whose lore, 

courage and, devotion have been the 

strength of my striving, 

this booh, is affectionately dedicated. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I Boyhood Days 15 

II Lure of the Links 25 

III A Parting of the Ways 39 

IV About Caddies 54 

V Caddie Days and Ways 66 

VI " Johnnie " and " Chick " 76 

VII Tournament Experiences 84 

VIII In Fast Company at Sixteen 96 

IX Championship Honors 110 

X My First Eastern Tournament 122 

XI Campus to Cattle Boat 131 

XII A Yankee Golfer Abroad 144 

XIII My Second Western Title 161 

XIV Touring the Northwest 173 

XV That ' ' Semi-Final Hoodoo " 180 

XVI Back on Foreign Links 187 

XVII Triple Honors in Western 204 

XVIII Golfing Across a Continent 212 

XIX Winning the Double Crown 220 

XX Bed Cross Golf 238 

XXI Auctioneers on the Links 255 

XXII Defending My Titles 274 

XXIII " Old Edgewater " 286 

XXIV Matches Not in the " Book " 299 

XXV Shots and How to Make Them 306 

XXVI Clubs and How to Use Them 324 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

The remarkable illustrations in Chick Evans* Golf 
Book are selected from the author's great collection 
of photographs. They are listed here in the order 
of their appearance in the book, 

The author and his mother, with the National Amateur and x/^ 
Open championship trophies [the "Double Crown"] won in 
1920. 

Miss Helen Reedy and Charles Evans, next door neighbors 
in Lake View, Chicago, whose adventures kept both from 
becoming lonesome. 



Old Edgewater Club House and the dining room, which was 
the center of attraction to Chick, looking from the outside in. 

Mrs. "Johnnie" Carpenter Hall, first Western Women's golf 
champion. As Miss Carpenter she played in eight women's 
open tourneys. She won all. 

This position evidently looked best to Evans in 1906. The 
photo was taken just before the Western Amateur golf tourney 
at St. Louis. 

Chick Evans just before winning his first Western Amateur 
golf championship in 1909. 

Chick's smile grew broader after he had celebrated his nine- 
teenth birthday, which came prior to the National Amateur 
tourney in 1909. 

Chick seems to be a little embarrassed by his proximity to 
greatness, especially as he is to meet Chandler Egan (at his 
side) in the semifinal match of the 1909 National Amateur 
championship at the Chicago Golf Club at Wheaton. 



y 



List of Illustrations 

Take a good look at the little gray sweater. It was Evans* , 
mascot in his march to victory in the 1910 Western Open golf 
championship. 

The victorious team in the Olympic Cup competition, 1910, 
the first time Evans participated in the play for the trophy.^ 
Standing left to right: Robert Gardner, Paul Hunter. Sit- 
ting: Albert Seckel, Chick Evans. 

Great throng sees Evans lose semifinals in the 1910 National 
Amateur at Brookline Country Club, near Boston, to W. C. 
Fownes, Jr. The snapshot was taken on the thirty-sixth green, 
where the match was decided. 

Types of Old World caddies and a caddie master. Below is a 
group of caddies at St. Andrews Golf Club, Scotland. In the 
upper right hand corner sits the late James McDonald, famous U. 
caddie at same club. The one in uniform is caddie master at 
La Boulie, Paris. 

Scenes from the British Amateur golf tourney at Prestwick 
in 1911. In the upper picture Evans is shown getting out of 
the rough ; in the lower he is putting. 

Striking photo of Bruce Pearce of Tasmania, who put Evans , 
out of the 1911 British championship. Pearce is shown getting £~ 
out of a sandpit near a green. 

Harold H. Hilton, noted British amateur golfer, whom Evans [/" 
defeated for the low qualifying medal in the 1912 National 
Amateur championship at the Chicago Golf Club. 

Four defeated golf stars in the 1913 National Amateur at 
Garden City Club, Long Island. The semifinal hoodoo got L* 
Evans. From left to right they are: W. C. Fownes, Jr., Chick 
Evans, Walter J. Travis and Heinrich Schmidt. 

Team of midwestern golfers who triumpantly toured the 
Northwest in 1913. The players who faced the camera at Salt 
Lake City are: Standing, left to right, Harry Legg, Howard 
Lee, Fraser Hale, Phil Stanton and Carl Devol. Sitting, War- 
ren K. Wood, Chick Evans and D. E. Sawyer. 

American amateurs and English pros meet at the Ravisloe 
Country Club, near Chicago, in 1913. From left to right: Harry *■* 
Vardon, Chick Evans, Warren K. Wood and Edward Ray. 

10 



List of Illustrations 

John Graham, Jr., British golfer, considered by Chick Evans 
as the greatest amateur player of the present day generation. 

John Barton Payne, Chicagoan and member of President Wil- 
son's cabinet, to whom Evans gives credit for much of his own '-^ 
skill on the links. 

Comrades of the links. "Warren K. Wood and Chick Evans, 
snapped on the Excelsior Springs, Mo., course in 1915. 

Evans driving in record-breaking round which netted him 71, i^ 
with six on the last hole, in the 1915 National Open at 
Baltusrol. 

Evans, in winning the Western Amateur golf championship^ 

at the Mayfield Country Club, Cleveland, had a hard match 
with D. E. Sawyer of Chicago in the semifinals. 

Chick Evans, just after winning the 1915 Western Amateur <^ 
at Cleveland. 

Principals in a famous West vs. East foursome which was 
played immediately following the 1915 National Amateur at . 
Detroit. Left to right : Chick Evans, Robert Gardner, Jerome 
Travers and Francis Ouimet. 

Three national champions meet at Philadelphia. Left to 
right they are: Robert Gardner, National Amateur champion; 
Mrs. C. H. Vanderbeck, National Women's; Charles Evans, Jr., ^ 
National Open. The photo was taken just before Evans clinched 
his title to the "Double Crown" at the Merion Cricket Club, 
1916. 

Winners of the "Double Crown." John Ball (left) of Hoy-^ 
lake, England, victor in the British Amateur and Open, 1890."" 
Chick Evans adds up his score at Minnikahda, Minneapolis, 
after winning the National Open, 26 years later. 

"Shorty," caddie and mascot, who helped Evans win the o - " 
"Double Crown" in 1916. 

Champion and his pals get together on the Edgewater links 
after Evans had won the 1916 Amateur title. Left to right: l 
G. M. McConnell, T. E. Hendee, Chick Evans and Robert 
Gardner. 

11 



List of Illustrations 

E. G. Grace, president of the Bethlehem Steel Corporation,^ 
the best business man golfer whom Evans has ever met. 

The eighteenth hole on the links of the Pine Valley Golf 
Club near Philadelphia, pronounced by Evans the most difficult^ 
course in the world. 

Friends of many years. A. W. Cutten, prominent Chicago 
business man, and Chick Evans, snapped at a wayside station ' 
on their way to California in 1917. 

The Guelph Country Club, Canada, scene in 1916 of the first 
Red Cross golf match on the American continent. The girls in / 
the upper picture each paid $25 to have their photos taken with 
Chick Evans and George S. Lyon. 

Evans starting out on his record-breaking round of 69 on ^ 
the Lambton Golf Club course at Toronto, Canada, in 1917. 

Charles F. Thompson, who, as president of the Western Golf , 
Association, largely contributed to the success of Red Cross 
golf in 1918. 

At the Broadmoor Country Club, Colorado Springs, Col. r 
1918. Jock Hutchinson, Warren K. Wood, James Barnes and L 
Chick Evans confer on ground rules before the start of the Red 
Cross match. 

Gen. Thomas H. Barry, U. S. A., discussing golf with Evans , 
at the Old Elm Club, near Chicago, before the start of the Red 
Cross match in 1918. 



is 



Scene at the fourteenth green at Oakmont Country Club, 
near Pittsburgh, where Francis Ouimet put Evans out of the 
1919 National Amateur in the second round by one up. 

Golfing adversities during the season of 1919 failed to wipe ! 
out Chick's smile. 

Bobby Jones of Atlanta and Evans, just before the semifinals t 
of the Western Amateur at Memphis, 1920. 

• A sensational 15-foot down hill curving putt on the thirty- 
sixth hole kept Evans in the 1920 National Amateur tourney i 
at Roslyn, a match he eventually won on the forty-first green 
from Reginald Lewis of Greenwich, Conn. 

12 



List of Illustrations 



W. C. Fownes, Jr., and Chick Evans, third round rivals in 
the 1920 National Amateur at Roslyn, Long Island. 

Francis Ouimet and Chick, both former caddies, meet in the 
finals of the National Amateur at Roslyn. 

Chick goes "aloft" after his sensational victory in the 1920 
National Amateur tourney. 

George Herbert Walker, president of the American Golf Asso- 
ciation, presenting the 1920 National Amateur golf trophy to ^ 
Evans after the latter's victory over Francis Ouimet. 

The author has a willing, but possibly awkward, golf pupil - 
in Otis Skinner, the actor. 

Miss Alexa Stirling, Women's National golf champion, 1920.^ 

Yes, it is Evans swinging, all right, but he objects to his own 
style, as shown in this picture. He says : "The shot will prob- ^-" 
ably find its mark, but it shows too much tension, and the 
weight of the body has been thrown too far ahead of the ball." 

This photo was taken in 1910. The author apparently is not 
proud of it, for he says: "This is an interesting picture, 
because it shows my old grip, which it took me months to 
unlearn." 

Evans on the eighth green in the National Amateur finals 
at the Merion Cricket Club, 1916, showing actual putting form 
of that period with a center shafter putter. 

In the author's opinion the form displayed shows a perfect 
follow through. This snapshot of Evans was taken at Mem- 
phis in the 1920 Western Amateur tourney. 

The tenth hole at Roslyn on which Cyril Tolley, British 
champion, took a 9 in the qualifying round. Francis Ouimet L " 
and Evans are halving it in 2. 

An early picture of Evans. It was taken in 1911, just after . 
his return from abroad, and shows his position in putting at l 
that time. 

Cups and medals are not the only rewards which have come 
Evans' way. Here is the magnificent roadster the Edgewater l. 
Club members presented him after he had won the 1920 
championship. 

13 



i 



List of Illustrations 

The first and ninth fairways of the Old Edge water Golf Club 
on which Evans learned his gam«=. 



i^ 



The three grips which have helped to make Evans a cham- 
pion. His present putting grip is shown in the left hand cor- \^- 
ner; opposite is the all-important position of the left thumb. 
Below is shown his present grip for all shots except the putt. 



The addresi. 



i/* 



Upper left hand corner: On the way up. (Notice distance 
of hands from body.) Upper right: Correct position of right ^ 
elbow. Lower left: Top of swing. Lower right: The finish 
of the drive. 

Snapped at Pinehurst in 1911. The picture shows how the i/ 
right elbow is up instead of being fairly close to the side, a 
style Evans employs at present. 

The little flick at the top of the stroke that is so clearly 
shown by the blur on the club head is the necessary feature of 
every good golf stroke. 



Just after a full brassie shot. A very good position. Observe 
the bent position of the arms. 

End of the back stroke in a full iron shot. Note the straight- 
ened right knee, position of left shoulder, and also length of 
back stroke. 

Finishing a low cleek shot. ~ 

Top of a half mashie shot. 

The perfect finish of a full "dedstop" or cut shot. Study 
this picture carefully. 



\s 



14 



Chick Evans' Golf Book 

CHAPTER I 

BOYHOOD DAYS 

Fleeting fame among the great — An early 
introduction to sport — Indiana loses a prospec- 
tive athlete; Chicago gains a future champion. 

It was at Indianapolis, on July 18, 1890, in a brown, 
shingled house on Pennsylvania Street, that I first saw 
the world that has treated me with so much kindness. 
The picturesque house is still standing, I believe, and I 
know that the big elms still meet to form a leafy arch- 
way over the street. At the time I was born there was a 
pretty garden with many roses at the back of the house. 
That was my first playground. 

Interesting families lived in all the houses along that 
street, and children, who have since found many differ- 
ent paths in life, played in those gardens. Altogether 
it was rather an ideal spot for a birthplace, but it seems 
a little strange that I should have been born there. I 
am pretty sure that not another man so thoroughly 
addicted to sports as I have been throughout my life, 
ever caught his first glimpse of daylight in that com- 
munity, for the general spirit of the place, at that 
time at least, seemed a little too serious for sport. 

On the street immediately back of us, and only a few 

15 



16 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

blocks down, was the home of Benjamin Harrison, then 
President of the United States. Directly across the 
street, in a house previously occupied by a member of 
the Landis family, lived a well-known lawyer, Albert 
Baker, son of a former Governor of Indiana. A young 
next-door neighbor, my brother 's most constant playmate, 
was a nephew and namesake of General Asa Bushnell, 
afterwards Governor of Ohio. 

On Meridian Street and within a few blocks of us 
lived Albert G. Porter, who had himself been Governor 
of Indiana and was then Minister to Italy. On the 
same street with the Porters and about a block from us 
was the home of Addison C. Harris, a noted Indiana 
lawyer who was afterwards Minister to Austria. A little 
farther down on the same street was John H. Holliday, 
founder and editor of the Indianapolis News, and I 
think that near him lived John C. Shaffer, now known 
as the publisher of a string of newspapers in various 
cities of the West. 

Many other close neighbors, most of whom we knew, 
had claims to distinction, but I doubt if one of them 
could have been induced to watch even a game of base- 
ball for an hour, and I am certain that my sporting 
friends will admit that it was a singular neighborhood 
for me to be born in. It has been reported that the late 
ex-President Harrison once said: " Golf is not a game, 
it is a disease." I have even known some golfers who 
agreed with him. 

At the time that I was born my father was librarian 
of the Public Library, which he had organized, and also 
secretary and one of the founders of the Indianapolis 
Literary Club. Unlike most literary societies this was 



i v 





Old Edge water Club House and the dining room, which was the 
center of attraction to Chick, looking from the outside, in. 



Boyhood Days 17 

really an association of noted men. I doubt if any other 
such club in the country ever carried upon its member- 
ship rolls the names of one President of the United 
States, two vice-presidents, three cabinet officers, two 
foreign ministers, three United States senators, a novel- 
ist of Meredith Nicholson's or an educator of David 
Starr Jordan's distinction; one poet, James Whitcomb 
Riley ; three, or more, governors of the state and a liberal 
sprinkling of authors and editors; a preponderance of 
lawyers, followed closely in numbers by clergymen of 
all denominations, doctors, bankers and leading business 
men. It was after a visit to this club that Matthew 
Arnold is said to have remarked that it constituted the 
finest body of distinguished men that he had met in 
America. 

My father was a librarian by profession; my mother 
was interested in books and all manner of educational 
things, and it might well have been expected that their 
child, born in such environment, would have become a 
writer, a lawyer, or, if statesmanship was beyond his 
grasp, a politician, for Indiana was that spot of magic, 
" a pivotal state," and thus held many a plum for the 
political-minded. The reason that I became none of 
these, I suppose, is that I lost the ennobling influences 
of the state at too early an age. I could not even appre- 
ciate presidents at the time I was there, and believed that 
driving a horse-car was a much better and more inter- 
esting occupation. 

My only connection with sport in Indianapolis con- 
sisted in watching hours at a time, from our second-story 
windows, boys playing football in the next yard, and 
then turning away to try out their kicks on a small and 



18 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

inoffensive ball of my own. It was cotton filled, very- 
soft, and covered with alternating sections of pale-blue 
and white kid. It was my idea that a ball was meant to 
be kicked, and I put this one constantly to that use, imi- 
tating the boys in the yard beneath my windows. My 
family, however, moved to Chicago several months before 
I reached the mature age of three years, and all my edu- 
cation thereafter, physical, moral and mental, was found 
in this city, or its environs. Therefore, I am largely a 
product of Chicago, but my birth in Indiana, although 
it could not furnish me with even one of its many robes 
of greatness, has given me many precious things, one of 
the best being the right to belong to the Indiana Society 
of Chicago, where, once a year, I realize what I missed 
when I left at too tender an age the state that produces 
distinguished men. 

Chance threw golf in my way, but it is probable that 
I was the original play-boy, and I think that wherever 
my life had been cast I should have found some game 
for self-expression. It happened that I found golf in 
Chicago, the great sporting center of the country. 

The days at Indianapolis were probably not really 
within my memory — they were something that the fam- 
ily talked about and were related to a faint subconscious- 
ness, but here in Chicago I came into my own. My 
father was still at his profession of librarian at the 
Newberry Library, the Virginia Library, and the Chi- 
cago Historical Society, but Chicago is big, and the 
overwhelming political and literary atmosphere of 
Indianapolis was absent. Chicago was eager and busy, 
and one could not expect to meet an ex-president or a 
cabinet member in the course of a day's walk, and not 



Boyhood Days 19 

a boy that I knew in Chicago ever expected to be one, 
but almost every one counted on becoming some sort 
of a champion — and he invariably pronounced it 
11 champeen." 

It may have been the atmosphere, or it may have been 
something else, but the two Evans boys and the one 
Evans girl were intensely interested in all forms of 
athletics, and but slightly interested in school. I think 
that we must have surprised our parents; but, then, on 
the other hand, we had always been encouraged to spend 
much time in the open air, and that naturally led to an 
interest in outdoor games. 

My earliest definite recollection is of our home in 
Lake View. It was an apartment on Koscoe Street, not 
very far from the lake. I was only four years old when 
we moved there. We lived on the second floor of a three- 
apartment building, and round about us was much 
vacant property. These lots, after school hours, were 
always filled with boys at play. I was much too young 
for regular games, but I remember that I never saw a 
group of boys playing that I did not stop to watch 
them with an admiring wonder at the things that they 
could do, and with a feeling of humiliation that I could 
not equal them. Once this act had rather a disastrous 
consequence, and at the time I could not have been more 
than six years old. Noticing some large boys playing 
baseball I, as usual, joined the group. As I was standing 
near the catcher I determined to try for the ball myself 
in my best big-boy manner, so that they could not yell 
' ' butter fingers ! ' ' I was only too successful and the 
league ball tore my small hands apart and struck my 
eye, felling me to the ground. Luckily the bony struc- 



20 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ture saved the eyeball itself from real injury, but it was 
a narrow escape. A black patch concealed a multicolored 
eye for many a week. 

I cannot remember a time when I did not have a pas- 
sionate love for games, and I am told that from the very 
beginning, in the playing of the simplest, I was a good 
loser. It has been a very useful quality for I have done 
a great deal of losing at golf, but then I have had my 
share of victories, too, and in the end success has more 
than balanced the failures. I have also been told by 
older boys, who knew me then, that I was always willing 
to be " it." 

At this season of my life I had an intense admiration 
for the older boys who could play baseball and football, 
but I did not care much for those of my own age, for as 
a rule none of them could play any games as well as I, 
but there was one small girl, a year or so my junior, 
who lived in a house across a vacant lot from our apart- 
ment, who proved a kindred spirit. Her name was Helen 
Reedy. She was small, and delicate looking, and she 
may have been all of three years old when I first knew 
her, but she had a dauntless soul. We planned many an 
adventure together, and her imagination and courage 
were the most consoling things I knew when I was 
snubbed by the older boys. Once we started to visit her 
relatives in Cincinnati with a combined capital of two 
nickels. We were captured at the car-barns by parents 
whose excitement surprised us. 

On another occasion we both attempted to walk a 
board, or log, that for some reason or other had been 
extended into the lake. If a man had not been working 
near enough to rescue us I should not be writing this 



Boyhood Days 21 

story and she would not be the fine musician that she is. 
He carried us through the snowy streets for a quarter 
of a mile to our home, and we were none the worse for 
that icy bath in midwinter. 

About this time the older boys became more obliging 
about their games, and often allowed me to hold their 
pens, pencils and other treasures when they stopped to 
play football in a vacant lot on their way home from 
school. Frequently the owners of these articles received 
such sudden parental summons that they were unable to 
claim their belongings, and in consequence I often found 
myself the puzzled possessor of an extraordinary collec- 
tions of odds and ends whose ownership was untraceable. 

At the age of six I began my education at the Louis 
Nettelhorst School, which was situated very near my 
home. There I played as many games as I could but 
the little boys were not proficient and the bigger ones 
showed no hospitable feelings. I do not remember what 
I did in my school work, but imagine that it was not 
any more than I was obliged to do. The next year I 
had typhoid fever and was dangerously ill. It was 
around the Christmas season, and it was months before 
I could get back to school, and, of course, there was a 
lull in my sporting proclivities, but by spring I was 
ready to play at anything that came my way. 

I well recall the first time I ever saw, or heard, the 
word golf. I had been taken for a ride out to Evanston 
on the electric car line. It was a pleasant ride on a hot 
day and seems to have been quite a habit of the neigh- 
borhood ; something like a trip to the country. The line 
was rather new, I fancy, and Helen and I had once tried 
to hitch on. The cars rushed down Halsted Street and 



22 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Evanston Avenue, and finally turned the corner at 
Devon, where a high board fence bore an inscription 
informing the public that the " Edgewater Golf 
Grounds " were within, and that they were private. I 
did not realize then the magic that lay in that name, 
but as usual I was curious, and my father told me that 
it was a Scottish game that this country was just taking 
up. It was one of the many strange coincidences of my 
life that only a few months later we should happen to 
find a, home near that golf course. 

Three lvstless children were getting to be too much for 
an apartment building, and the vacant lots that had 
given so much breathing space to that Lake View neigh- 
borhood were being built up principally with similar 
buildings. Even the spot across which I had looked from 
our dining room window to little Helen Reedy 's, was now 
covered by a three-story apartment structure owned by 
a Swedish family that approved of neither of us. More 
and more our parents were beginning to see that a house 
with at least a little ground about it was a necessity to 
our family. It was very evident at that stage of my 
life that the confinement of a second-story apartment 
was not meant for me, and my subsequent liberation 
from it was not only a joy to myself but to many others 
beside. 

I believe that it was after some new amusement of 
mine that did not meet with the approval of others in 
the building that my mother began to study advertise- 
ments, and concluded that somewhere in Rogers Park, a 
subdivision extending northward to the extreme city 
limits, was the best place for us. There a suitable house 
was found on Pratt Avenue and we moved in, either in 



Boyhood Days 28 

the latter part of August or the first of September, 1898. 
The next year we bought the property, and there we 
have lived ever since. It happened — and thus does 
Fate weave the life-web — that the house was very near 
the Edgewater Golf Club. It was so near, indeed, that 
after I had learned to play, I often, very often, when 
the policeman and house owners were not looking, drove 
my ball to Southport, now Glenwood, Avenue and 
thence to the lower end of the golf grounds. 

All of the houses in our new neighborhood were 
detached, each boasted a considerable back yard, and 
there were practically no apartment buildings. There 
were, too, many blocks innocent of all buildings, and 
looking towards the lake there was much wooded space. 
It seemed to be a neighborhood of children. Most of the 
families were like ours, I judge, and had left the more 
crowded portions of the city in order to give their chil- 
dren room to grow. We were near the lake because my 
brother and sister were both fond of water sports. I 
was, too, but a skin that always would blister kept me 
from carrying swimming to the extreme. 

I was put in school at once and spent the first few 
weeks in my new home getting acquainted with my 
surroundings. One day about that time, Reginald 
Brownlee, an older boy who lived next door, showed me 
a golf ball, the first I had ever seen. He explained that 
such balls were used in a new game called golf, and that 
it was played with clubs ; that boys were needed to carry 
them, and that they were paid ten cents for nine holes 
on week days, and fifteen cents on Saturdays and Sun- 
days. With that information, although I did not know 
what " holes " were, visions of untold wealth passed 



24 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

before my eyes. It was too late, however, to set out in 
search of fortune that day, but immediately after school 
the next afternoon I started for the golf grounds. 

The course itself ran down to within a short distance 
of my own house, but the clubhouse was at the Devon 
Avenue end, about three-quarters of a mile away. I 
crossed the golf grounds, and consumed with curiosity, 
saw with an eye to detail, a golf course for the first time. 
It showed up a little brown after the summer 's heat with 
old-fashioned cop bunkers, white tee boxes, and the bril- 
liant green spaces with the little red flags in the center. 
Pleased as I was with the novelty of the sight I never 
dreamed then how thrillingly interesting any landscape 
so bedecked would be to me in after life. 



CHAPTER II 

LUEE OF THE LINKS 

Edgewater Golf Club acquires a new caddie — 
First job on the links yields extra dividend — A 
discovery in retrieving golf balls — Getting 
acquainted with professionals. 

In the early history of the Edgewater Club, back In 
1898, there was no caddie master and the so-called 
caddie yard bore no resemblance to those of today. 
The entrance to the club was on Devon Avenue, with 
the caddie yard just across the street and car tracks. 

I am not certain that this ground even belonged to 
the club. It was more likely a place where the boys 

II hung out." 

There was a ridge running through the lots, and in 
that part of the city the subsoil is of sand (it was this 
sand that gave the course such wonderful greens) and 
some of this had been dug out, leaving a big sandy hole 
that played an important part in the lives of the caddies. 
There were high board signs, and trees and bushes, and 
climbing the signs and trees was a favorite sport. There 
were rabbits there, too, and we frequently chased them. 
There were many wild violets — which we did not pick. 
It was a strangely fascinating spot for a boy of my 
temperament. 

The street cars stopped at the club entrance, and from 
the lot across the way the caddies emerged and asked 

25 



26 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the descending clubmen for a job. That is, if they were 
what caddies considered good men to work for, other- 
wise there would not be a caddie in sight, all being care- 
fully concealed in the sandhole, among the bushes, or 
up in the trees. 

Frequently we had a game of baseball, or even 
marbles, in which I was rather proficient, to while away 
the time until the next car came. There were a couple 
of tomato cans sunk in the ground for putting, but for a 
long time golf clubs were luxuries, and the trees were 
badly mutilated to furnish shinny sticks, and imple- 
ments that in a pinch could be used for golf clubs. 

I was, however, really too young for caddying, even 
my brother was rather young — boys of twelve and four- 
teen being preferred — but there is one quality that I 
possess in abundance, and that is persistence, and from 
that first day I simply haunted that caddie yard, confi- 
dent in the belief that sometime I would be allowed to 
carry the bag that was taller than I. 

One day when only ladies were playing my long- 
looked-for opportunity arrived. It happened that there 
were few boys out, the older ones, I fancy, having been 
drawn to a football game of their own, and a caddie was 
needed. The lady who accepted my services, such as they 
were, was Miss Amy Jones, daughter of Gr. I. Jones, 
one of the five founders of the Edgewater Golf Club, 
and unless I am mistaken, she, herself, was at the time 
the woman champion of the club. 

I was about two inches shorter than the bag, and the 
strap adjusted to the last notch was still much too large 
for me. In consequence the bag just bumped along with 
each alternating step. Luckily for me Miss Jones was 



Lure of the Links 27 

very kind and made allowances for the little freckle- 
faced boy who was caddying for the first time, and 
exceedingly anxious to do well at it. 

Of course, burdened by the bag, I could not keep up 
with Miss Jones, but she would walk back to get the 
club needed for the next shot, and if there was a short 
cut for the caddie she showed it to me, and took two 
clubs if she were in doubt as to the one to be used, 
because she knew that the little youngster could never 
be up to the ball in time. 

I can appreciate these acts of Miss Jones more now 
than I did then, because when I got to playing myself, 
I was, and am now, a crank about never making a final 
decision on the club to use until I stood right at the 
ball, and I always confess to considerable irritation if 
the caddie hands me a club he thinks I should play, or 
even asks me to take the club, before I am at the ball- 
Fortunately for me, Miss Jones was not that sort of a 
player, and she even took her niblick out of the bag to 
lighten it for me the second round, for Edgewater was 
a nine-hole course. Still more fortunately for a boy 
making his first essay at the task of caddying, Miss 
Jones, as became a champion, was a very good player, 
and seldom off the course, and, therefore, it did not 
matter whether I watched the ball or not. 

I cannot recall now whether I took any interest in 
Miss Jones' game. I am afraid not, for at that time I 
was practically unacquainted with golf, and was prob- 
ably only interested in " pay time." I may have 
asked (but I hope not) as I have heard many a small 
boy do, if we were nearly through. The extraordinary 
interest that I as a caddie always took in the game of 



28 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

my player came later. I became proudly happy over 
every fine shot, excused all the poor ones, and made of 
my caddying time a period of great emotions. 

On the day of my first caddying round Miss Jones 
was playing with Miss Lucy Peet, and I afterwards 
learned that these two were almost inseparable on the 
links. They were the best two women players at the 
club at that time. 

The boy who was caddying for Miss Peet was from 
up on Clark Street, which meant that he belonged to 
an altogether different caddie circle at Edgewater. 

There were neighborhood cliques — Edgewater, 
Rogers Park and Clark Street — and they stood for 
many different things. I asked the Clark Street boy 
a number of questions about the work and the game, 
but his replies were not encouraging. I think that he 
regarded me as a presuming youngster who should be 
made to keep his place, and only allowed to caddie 
when none of his elders was around. 

It was nearly dark, when, on the ninth green, Miss 
Jones removed the bag from my shoulders and handed 
me thirty-five cents! Twenty cents was what she should 
have paid me. I had done nothing for her except to 
lug the bag around, but I think that she recognized the 
good intentions behind the poor performance, and under- 
stood how tired an eight-3 T ear-old boy could be. 

The money received for this first caddying seemed a 
princely sum to me, for up to that time no one had con- 
sidered my services very valuable, a dime having been 
my maximum wage previously. For that amount I had 
made a Marathon race from the Rogers Park Station 
to a man's house on Southport Avenue for a pair of 



Lure of the Links 29 

forgotten spectacles, and I now saw that kind ladies 
who played golf would provide more money than impa- 
tient gentlemen whose memories only failed them 
occasionally. 

I hastened home with all my riches and my family 
had to stand a great deal of detailed information about 
golf, that night, and for many other nights since that 
time. This first day of caddy ing was a great and happy 
occasion, but as any caddie knows it could so easily have 
been made a humiliating experience. The tactful kind- 
ness of a woman, hardly more than a girl herself, caused 
me to turn my steps then and there to a path, obscure 
indeed, but one that led surely and pleasantly to a very 
joyous land. 

I could hardly wait for school to be out the next day, 
and as soon as it was I headed for the golf grounds. At 
that time the Edgewater Golf Club had only been a year 
or so at that location. Furthermore, it was late season, 
there were no rules about caddie turns, and there was 
no caddie master. The big boys ran the show. It was 
the time known as " scabbing time," and no caddie 
needs to have that term explained. It meant a free- 
for-all rush for the " good guys " with the everlasting 
motto " little boys last ! " As I was one of the smallest 
my chance of getting a job on any day was of the 
slimmest and, therefore, a large share of disappoint- 
ment was in store for me. 

This was long before the days of the caddie uplift 
movement. The game was new in America, and if 
uplifting had been tried at that time it is possible 
there would have been no caddies. They had not then 
felt the lure of the game, being largely attracted by 



30 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the novelty of the thing and the chance to earn pocket 
money without working steadily. 

The Edgewater Golf Club itself was new and very 
private, and the caddies were not expected to stay inside 
the grounds except when caddying. If they did they 
were likely to be ordered out by the manager of the club- 
house, or the professional autocrat. 

The course at that time extended from Devon on the 
south to just beyond North Shore Avenue on the north, 
and from Sheridan Road to Southport Avenue. No part 
of the grounds lay in Edgewater. Notwithstanding its 
name it was entirely in Rogers Park, Edgewater begin- 
ning on the south side of Devon Avenue. This, too, 
marked the four-mile limit of the Northwestern Univer- 
sity prohibition district. About the only houses on that 
side were two saloons — Joe Miller's and " Punkin 
Pete's " — at the corner of Devon and Evanston, now 
Broadway. 

The downtown cars let the golfers off directly in 
front of the club on Devon Avenue, and there was gen- 
erally a boy up on one of the big signboards. From this 
vantage point he could see the next car far down past 
Granville Avenue, and we could tell as soon as it turned 
the corner and started down Devon whether it was 
going to stop. If it did, before the car was at a stand- 
still, or the man could get off, his passage to the club 
was blocked by a crowd of boys yelling, " Caddie, 
Mister?" About the only chance for the little fellow 
was on a busy Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning 
when he might be the only one left, or the big boys 
might " duck " and give him a chance with a player 
who was considered disagreeable, or who did not tip, for 



Lure of the Links 31 

I am sorry to say at that time the boys were purely 
mercenary, and every man was really " marked.* ' 

Although jobs must have been infrequent in the fall 
of 1898, I soon learned the names of most of the clubs, 
and the places on the holes where most of the balls 
were lost, and I always had a golf ball to bounce and 
to play catch with. Once I recollect that at the Eugene 
Field School a big girl took a perfectly good ball from 
me to play jacks with — a sort of desecration, it seemed 
to me. Those were the hard ball days and I soon had 
a fine collection of Ocobos, Vardon Flyers, Mussel- 
burghs, Agrippas, Silvertowns and others. 

A certain aptitude for football, baseball and other 
school games drew me often to them despite the new 
lure of golf. Perhaps it was a family reason that 
changed the balance to the side of golf. My mother 
had never objected to my long stays at the golf grounds 
because it was near home, and she always knew where 
I was. Otherwise nothing short of omniscience could 
have kept her informed. The lake was near and I 
soon learned to swim, and near the lake were heavily 
wooded lots where I learned to climb trees. Then, 
too, I had formed a habit of being carried home in 
a more or less dilapidated condition, and she thought 
that golf seemed safer than most of my other amuse- 
ments. My method of playing football apparently 
struck terror to the family heart, but I was quite 
successful at it, and in spite of my love for golf and 
family opposition, I spent a great deal of time on the 
gridiron all through my grammar school and Evanston 
Academy days. 

That first year in Rogers Park my father asked me 



32 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

what I wanted for Christmas, and I told him a golf 
club, although I think that he knew that anyway. My 
brother Eliot, several years older than I, told him the 
same thing, showing the hold the new game had taken 
upon us. "What club, however, was the question, and 
very seriously we sought information from other cad- 
dies and from the men for whom we caddied. 

Each one asked replied ' ' a cleek. ' ' 

Nothing shows the passage of time like that choice, 
for then the cleek was the popular all-around club and 
now one hears but little about it. At Christmas time my 
brother and I both received our clubs. They were Mor- 
ristowns, and cost seventy-five cents apiece. Mine was a 
dandy-feeling little club, and cut to a ridiculously short 
size for me. 

Things about the house were considerably damaged 
while I was learning to swing, but most of the practical 
knowledge I acquired of golf and other games was 
attended with more, or less breakage at homo. Before 
I killed any one with the cleek, which I seemed in a fair 
way of doing, I suffered a broken leg, and to use an 
Irish bull, that broken leg carried me with still a dif- 
ferent step towards golf. It put me on the reading 
side of it. 

It was my constant admiration for the older boys 
and my intense interest in their games that caused me a 
serious accident in January, 1899, my first winter in 
Rogers Park. It was at the morning recess of the Eugene 
Field School. The playground was frozen hard with 
icy spots here and there. The older boys were playing 
a game that they called " Land Sting- Goal," and we 
little ones were looking on. Sides were drawn up and 




Mrs. ' "Johnnie" Carpenter Hall, first Western Women's golf 
champion. As Miss Carpenter she played in eight women's open 
tourneys. She won all. Chick caddied for her in each. 




Photo by Pietzcker, St. Louis. 

This position evidently looked best to Evans in 1906. The 
photo was taken just before the Western Amateur golf tourney at 
St. Louis. 




Chick Evans just before winning his first Western Amateur 
?olf championship in 1909. 




Photo by International Film Service. 

Chick's smile grew broader after he had celebrated his nine- 
teenth birthdav, yvhich came prior to the National Amateur tourney 
in 1909. 



Lure of the Links 33 

the small bays were expected to keep out of the way of 
the big ones, but I ran across the open space, and one of 
the bigger boys tripped me up. I think that he wanted 
to teach me to keep out of the way. I fell heavily on 
the icy ground and found myself unable to rise. 

After a great many painful experiments on the part 
of the boys, such as pulling my leg and then attempting 
to stand me up on it, I was carried into the schoolhouse 
and laid upon a table. By that time it was discovered 
that my leg was past walking upon, and three of the 
older boys, Ray Clarke, Bob Marshall and Will Follett 
volunteered to carry me to my home, about three-quarters 
of a mile away. It was an unforgettably painful prog- 
ress. The boys were kind and patient, but no one had 
ever shown them how a boy with a broken leg should 
be carried. 

My leg was found to be fractured above the knee, 
and after it was set it was kept extended with some 
sort of pulley arrangement. The leg was measured 
every day. No chances for unevenness were being 
taken, for I was a restless and impatient patient. 

During this period of confinement reading, and being 
read to, were chief amusements, and chief among the 
books were Andersen's Fairy Tales and the Golf Guide, 
two books not often coupled together. But to my 
young mind they were of equal interest. Two months 
in bed is a long time for any one, but it is an eternity to 
a restless eight-year-old boy, and it was during that 
spell, I think, that I definitely decided to be a golf 
champion. The names Braid, Vardon, Sandy Herd and 
Taylor took on a new meaning for me as I read the 
Guides, and I learned the story of our own few 



34 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

championships and was thrilled by the names of the 
winners. 

It was March before I was out again, and by that 
time there was already some playing over at Edge water, 
because it was a late and early season playing course. 
It was fortunate in having a sandy subsoil, and this 
good drainage was one reason for its wonderful greens 
and fairgreens. The texture of the turf was famous, 
and K. L. Ames, member of both Edgewater and Glen- 
view, tried to copy them for the fifth green at Glen- 
view, and spent $1,200 or $1,500 doing it, a big sum in 
those days. The Edgewater greens were so good and 
so well drained that one could play five minutes after 
the heaviest rain. 

As my agility increased I was soon practicing around 
the north end of the golf course trying to imitate the 
shots made by the golfers that I had been watching. 
I probably got some caddying to do before I went back 
to school, for with the other boys in school it was a good 
time for a little one to caddy, and doubtless my leg was 
much stiffer at home than it was out on the golf grounds. 
It was also a good time to look for golf balls. 

I remember finding, and I think that it was that 
spring, a brand new ball by a method that I have always 
claimed to have originated, but, of course, I may have 
deceived myself. I saw a player drive into some long 
grass that separated the then second and third holes. 
He knew, of course, that it had gone into that strip 
but although he looked for a long time, neither he nor 
his caddie could find it. When he left I concluded to 
try an experiment and went over and lay down where 
I thought the ball had fallen. Then I rolled over with 



Lure of the Links 35 

thoroughness, accompanied, I must confess, by dizziness, 
all around the spot until some part of my body struck 
a round, hard object. This, of course, was the ball, 
which I immediately proceeded to dig out. 

The method soon made me rich in golf balls, but what 
was better it gave me a reputation among both members 
and caddies of never losing a golf ball. 

The golf professional at Edgewater, when I went 
there in 1898, was Harry Turpie. He was the first one 
I had ever known and a very good one he was, too. I 
think that he had come to Edgewater from Glen View 
only the year before, remaining until 1902. 

I do not think that the caddies of the present day 
have the feelings that we held towards professionals. 
We looked up to them as if they were gods, and their 
rule was often of iron. None of us at that time really 
liked professionals. They were our natural enemies 
(and I am sure that they looked upon us as necessary 
nuisances) but we admired their position in life and we 
thought clubmaking a particularly delightful occupation. 

One of my earliest golf recollections is that I was 
always gazing into the screened shop window which 
opened into the caddie yard, marveling at what I saw 
there. For a while Harry Turpie employed his brother 
George to make clubs for him, and in those days a pro- 
fessional actually made clubs. Now it is largely done 
for him. The head of the club was fashioned from a 
square block of wood. The shaft required much planing 
and sandpapering, and every caddie in the yard was 
absorbingly interested in the job. George was not very 
friendly to the lowly caddies. Our restlessness was a 
trial and the noise we made must have been deafening. 



36 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

George Turpie was then supposed to have better pros- 
pects as a player than Harry, although the latter was 
very good, but evidently George's game did not develop 
as expected. He is still in the business but he has never 
become a great player. He did not stay long at 
Edgewater. 

Although I was almost daily at the golf grounds, not 
all my time in the spring and summer of 1899 was given 
to caddying, for my fondness for baseball still lived and 
I was pretty good at it for a kid who celebrated his 
ninth birthday that summer. There were plenty of 
vacant lots in Rogers Park to play in and a good many 
chances to play. I remember that my brother had a bet 
with a boy that I could throw a golf ball a certain dis- 
tance, for I did have a very good " wing " for a 
youngster, and I believe that he won his wager. By 
midsummer of the year I was pretty well acquainted 
with all the boys who frequented the golf grounds, and 
with many of the members. 

About this time, however, I had a week or so of 
intermittent fever that kept me at home, and early in 
August I had another one of my narrow escapes from 
serious injury, and this threatened for a while to put 
me out of the golf game, for it seemed to prove that 
even golf was not entirely safe for me. 

While I, when I first acquired the golf ground habit, 
was probably the youngest boy actually caddying at 
Edgewater, there was another little lad, still younger, 
who haunted the golf grounds and fairly grew up on 
the course, his home being on Southport, now Glenwood 
Avenue, just across the street from the grounds. 
The lad was " Bobbie " McNulty, later on well 



Lure of the Links 37 

known to golfers all around Chicago. After playing 
in the amateur ranks for a time he accepted the place 
of professional at Danville, and then at La Grange. 
He was Lieutenant J. Robert McNulty in the war. He 
gave up professional golf and has been reinstated as an 
amateur. 

One day we were over near the sandhole across the 
tracks, and Bobbie had a new iron club. I don't know 
whether it belonged to him or to one of the other 
boys, but we were watching him and telling him to 
swing as hard as possible. In my zeal I stood a little 
too near and the iron caught me just above the eye, 
completely laying me out. I was taken into the club- 
house and Dr. Henry Hooper, who happened to be 
playing there, gave me first aid and then once more I 
was carried home to my mother by the big boys. She 
must have concluded then that there was no place or 
occupation safe for me. Our family physician, Dr. 
Paul Hullhorst, who had just released me as a patient 
a few months before, was called upon for a little more 
practice on me. 

Bobbie's older brother was one of the boys who brought 
me home. He deserves a little tribute here. Of all the 
Old Edgewater caddies he gave promise of becoming 
the best golfer. He was a great favorite with the mem- 
bers, and whenever the professional went out to play 
he always took Louis. His death a few years later at the 
early age of fifteen years was deeply mourned at 
Edgewater. 

The kids living at the north end of the club grounds 
had taken quickly to the idea of making money so 
pleasantly and abundantly as seemed possible at Edge- 



38 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

water, and in a very little while we were all " going 
down to the chib," as we called it. The big boys, of 
course, got the cream of everything, and they were 
already playing a little on the conrse after caddying 
time when the professional was not looking. 

I think that it must have been about this time that 
the club decided to get a caddie master and to " cor- 
ral " the boys. There was a high board fence on the 
Devon Avenue side with two entrances, a small one for 
the house supplies and a large one for the members. 
We were given a right to the lesser and a place inside 
was set aside for us. In time there was a shelter in 
ease of rain, and also some benches on which we 
carved our initials. A professional's shop, the caddie 
master's house and a tool shop formed one boundary 
of it. Each year a few improvements were added but 
land was scarce and the area remained the same. 

The caddie yard had a putting course — five holes — 
each one well worn around the top. Many a close match 
was played there at a penny a hole, and no national 
championship could ever be more exciting. Saturday 
mornings were always the time for the big events. There 
was a noisy crowd of spectators, and plenty of gratuitous 
advice, abuse and general information was handed out 
to the contestants. Not infrequently Turpie and the 
chef would break up the game on account of the noise. 



CHAPTER III 

A PARTING OF THE WAYS 



Whon I was a caddie, a wee, sraa' laddie, 

I lived in a world that was new; 
Life itself was a game, to play it my aim, 

In the best way my hands found to do. 

I'm no longer a caddie, nor wee sma" laddie, 
Nor's the world so eternally new; 

Life's not wholly a game, yet my hope is the same 
And my hands seek the best they can do. 



Caddies are like all other boys, and grown-ups too, 
for that matter. Mostly they follow the leaders. If 
any man looks back over his boyhood days he will 
recall that some one boy, much to the admiration of the 
others, " ran " things. I believe that I was usually 
the head of a gang of boys of my own age. Only the 
big boys subdued me. 

In football, baseball and other games I was always 
trying to lead the way, perhaps not so much that I 
wanted to lead as that I did not want anybody to boss 
me, and the price of my services, and they had a well- 
defined value, was a finger in the management. I think 
that was the reason that I had my scrap with Art 

39 



40 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Graham over our local baseball team, and that tilt 
probably meant golf as a life game for me. 

We were both in the seventh grade, and we were 
playing " hookey " from school one afternoon. The 
biggest building going up at that time in Kogers Park 
was the Congregational Church, and there of course 
we climbed the scantlings and jumped the holes in the 
full joy of this forbidden vacation. The reason we 
two boys chummed, I think, was because we were both 
inclined to " run " the local sports. I forget now what 
inconsequential thing started that row high up in that 
church but I was angry and so was he, and we split, 
and I decided that I wasn't going to play on that 
Rogers Park team any more. We climbed down from 
our place on the structure by different routes, through 
brick and mortar, and went upon our separate ways. 
The other boys begged me to go back, but that after- 
noon I had immediately headed for the club, and con- 
cluded that golf was my best love after all. It was 
perhaps this little incident that limited my playing of 
other games in which I had shown ability, and turned 
me decidedly to golf. 

It was astonishing how kind the members of the 
Edge water Club were to the boys in those early days, 
long before the caddie " reformation " of the present 
time. The old clubhouse itself was small and unpre- 
tentious, and of course there was no room in the caddie 
yard for many of the things now deemed necessary for 
the welfare of the caddies, but the members all seemed 
solicitous of our happiness. 

The boys were generously treated in the matter of 
playing. Each year we had a tournament and each 



A Parting of the Ways 41 

Monday morning up to 10 o'clock we were allowed 
to play on the course. I have to confess that our play- 
ing was not limited to this generous allowance. The 
second hole went due north for six hundred yards, and 
it was on the green of this hole, very near my own 
home, and yet not visible from it that many a putting 
match was played, often lasting well into the night, a 
handkerchief being used to mark the hole. 

The caddies at Bdgewater were composed of several 
widely -differing groups of boys. They were rather 
roughly differentiated as the " Edgewater crowd/' 
1 Rogers Park kids " and the " Clark Street bunch." 
These groups never exactly assimilated. The Edge- 
water boys thought themselves a little better than the 
Rogers Park and we in turn considered ourselves a 
little better than the Clark street crowd. 

I think, too, that with just a few exceptions the skill 
of the caddies was graduated by the location of their 
homes. For instance, those who live-d on Southport, 
now Glenwood Avenue which faced the grounds, played 
better than those who lived farther to the north or 
west, and those in their turn better than those who 
lived up on Clark Street, and the latter had the edge 
on those in Edgewater. I have been so impressed by 
this fact that I have never failed, since the Old Edge- 
water moved, to live near a golf course during the 
playing season. 

Certainly those cad-dies who lived nearest the old 
links played best because they were able to take more 
practice shots. One of the exceptions of the early 
days was Joe Morheiser, who lived over on Ravenswood 
Avenue, near the railroad tracks. When going home 



42 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

he would play the old Sunset Hole, and then proceed 
up to Clark Street and home with his clubs. Some- 
times Joe would play up to the Birches with us and 
back again if he had enough time. 

Very few of the kids had clubs when they first began, 
but whenever a fellow had one he was always swinging 
it unless working, and I kept mine busy. I think that 
I must have swung it a million times, and those first 
million swings happened to be wrong. 

Like all golfers we often came home late to meals, 
being delayed by a fiercely contested match on the last 
green. The stakes were a soda. Joe Morheiser once 
won 244 sundaes from the crowd in the caddie yard, 
and yet he had to buy his own at the drug store that 
night. It was always better to owe a fellow than to 
beat him out of it. 

For some reason very few Jewish boys came to caddy 
at Old Edgewater, and none of them learned to play 
golf. The reason may have been that in those early 
days the older boys, being as I know from sad experi- 
ence unregenerate gentiles, systematically discouraged 
the offspring of a thrifty and industrious race; but, 
whatever the cause, few came. 

Over on the corner, just outside the prohibition dis- 
trict of Rogers Park, were two saloons, and the one 
belonging to Joe Miller, although it did not have the 
better location, seemed to enjoy the more lucrative 
business. Joe *s wife was related to Lou Houseman, the 
theatrical promoter, and he had a friend whose son, 
Abe Freeman, came from downtown to caddy. I 
remember him as a very entertaining chap, always 
headed for a good job and most actively " nursing " 



A Parting of the Ways 43 

it when a good tip was in sight. It is not surprising 
that he was once fired by a member who rarely tipped. 

We found Abe, who was a big boy, very interesting 
because he told wonderful stories. He talked about 
fortunes and gold mines and marvelous treasures in a 
most familiar way, and yet we noticed that in spite 
of the treasures he had found and the fortunes he had 
made, he was still glad to come to our own little gold 
mine — the Edgewater Golf Club. He extracted some 
pay ore, for he was a good combination of romantic 
vision and practical common sense. Our caddie master 
was attached to Joe Miller and his bar, and there- 
fore he favored Freeman, who, moreover, was a very 
good worker when there was any money in sight. 

There was another Jewish boy, Isaac Cohen, who 
caddied occasionally at Edgewater. He now has a 
cigar store somewhere on Division Street. He and 
his brother Dave came down from the " Ridge," where 
their father had a dry goods store. One day Dave 
was accidently underpaid by Henry Newton. The 
blow hurt. It was some time before he got Mr. Newton 
again, but his first remark was: " You owe me five 
cents from before, Mr. Newton." A quarter made up 
for the overdue payment. 

There is a certain skill even about caddy ing and some 
boys never make good caddies. There is a knack about 
the carrying of a bag, and in the days when I was 
caddying the manufacturers did not make the bags as 
carefully as they do now. They were not well balanced 
for the shoulders and almost any sort of a bag was 
good enough. "We used to put the niblick, the least 
used club, heel downward so that the preponderance 



44 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

of weight would not send the bag tipping forward. 
Without such weight in the bottom of the bag it was 
very uncomfortable for the boy. David Maxwell used 
his niblick so often, however, that his regular caddie 
kept a little smooth stone that he dropped in the bot- 
tom of the bag. 

Nearly all of us North End kids had clubs that we 
kept with us constantly. They were our greatest treas- 
ures and it would never have done to leave them around 
in the caddie yard if we ever expected to see them 
again. I even took mine to my bedroom at night, partly 
to keep it from my brother and partly to protect myself 
from burglars. Not that I had anything that a burglar 
would care to steal but there was always a chance that 
he might not know that. 

Two clubs head downward were really needed to 
keep the old caddie bags properly balanced, and it was 
my habit to so place the niblick and my own club. It 
was safer to keep that club with head down for there 
was many a player to whose swing I could never have 
trusted my pet club. I was often asked how I was able 
to distinguish my club from the niblick when I could 
not see the heads. The question made me laugh for 
there was nothing easier for me than distinguishing 
grips by the sense of touch. 

"With the old bag the new caddie was easily spotted. 
His " greenness " was evident as a " rookie " in camp. 
The usual rule then was to put the strap criss-cross 
over both shoulders. As a consequence the inexperi- 
enced kid stumbled, all around when the heavy heads 
drew the bag nose downward. Now the manufacturers 
place the straps more intelligently and the experienced 



A Parting of the Ways 45 

caddie has ne longer a reason for snickering at the 
green one. 

I made a study of caddying, however, from the begin- 
ning and I tried to do everything that I saw the experi- 
enced boy do, and if I could think out anything that 
seemed better I did that, too. It was easy for me to 
learn quickly the names of all the clubs, and I noticed, 
too, that the members had different ways of taking 
them for the next shot. When they called for them I 
got so that, without looking, I could just feel for the 
right club and hand it out. Many caddies pulled out 
the club and thrust the cold iron into the player's hand. 
I made a point of dusting off the head of the club and 
handing the grip to the player. 

Perhaps because my mother was from the South and 
all southern children do it, I was always careful to 
say, ' ' Yes, sir, ' ' and ' ' No, sir, ' ' and I always addressed 
them as " Mr.," " Mrs.," or "Miss." This was in 
marked contrast to a great many of the caddies, for 
while many of us were Americans, there was a strong 
intermingling of foreigners and an indifferent ' ' Yah ' ' 
was the favorite form of assent, with the negative a 
sort of a grunt. I was no model of politeness in the 
caddie yard, far from it, but my manners changed 
immediately on the other side of the fence. 

When it came to shining clubs I was as good as any, 
if not the best of the crowd. Caddies no longer do 
this, yet they still think that they are obliged to work 
too hard. I really like the polishing. It was sport for 
me to work on them till they shone. It was pleasant 
to me to go out in the yard and sit on the carved 
benches and do my shining with all the kids talking 



46 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

at once about their man's game, and what happened on 
the last round. 

The other day I found in an old suitcase two caddie 
badges. One was No. 56 and the other was No. 1. They 
were the only numbers I had during my life as a caddie, 
although I was on the job for five more years, which 
meant that numbers were given out in 1900 when I 
was ten years old. 

My first number was 56. As it was connected with 
much happiness in my life, I have had many supersti- 
tions about it and, strange to relate, events have some- 
what justified them. Years afterwards when in impor- 
tant tournaments, I usually asked for locker number 56, 
and this happened to be the number of my locker at 
Minikahda when I won the National Open, and began 
so auspiciously the season of 1916. Even now, for 
sentiment's sake, I usually try to get Caddie No. 56 
when I am playing in tournaments at different clubs. 

Each year we were asked if we still had the badges 
and I was kept on that number. I usually wore it on 
the peak of my cap, even when I went to school, or to 
the shops on Clark Street in Rogers Park, which was 
our equivalent to " going to town." 

In the summer of my fourteenth birthday a new 
design was ordered for enough badges to supply over 
300 caddies. The news that they were going to give 
out new badges had swept the caddie yard like fire. 
When the caddie master opened the parcel each boy's 
heart beat fast, but none faster than mine when No. 1 
was handed to me with the remark, " Because you are 
the best caddie at the club." 

I found the No. 1 badge was quite a responsibility, 



A Parting of the Ways 47 

but I tried to live up to it and I was allowed to ke^p 
the badge when I quit caddying the day before my 
sixteenth birthday. 

When the caddie master was at Edgewater we were 
required, to register and that meant merely registering 
your number. The caddie master often hardly knew 
our names. I can hear him say now: " If you don't 
stop making that noise, 56, I'll give you a beating 
you'll remember." As the members filed past the 
window the voice from the caddie master's office would 
call out numbers and we would answer. Even the 
members knew us chiefly by numbers, but some wanted 
to know our names, and as time passed I came out of 
the number class and was " Chick " and " 56 " in the 
same breath. 

Occasionally caddies came down from Evanston and 
one such visit is deeply impressed upon my mind. The 
newcomer was one of the toughest boys that we had 
encountered. He had accompanied an Evanston man, 
E. P. Ide, I think, who was entered in a tournament. 
He played a good game with a cross-handed grip and 
was playing against C. M. Rogers, for whom I was 
caddying. It is needless to emphasize the fact that I 
was eager for my man to win. 

The Evanston kid was what we called " downright 
mean," and he soon insolently informed me that he 
was to get a dollar extra if his man won. He began by 
insisting that I take every one of the flags, notwith- 
standing that it is a sacred caddie law to go fifty-fifty 
in a single match and twenty-five — twenty-five in a 
foursome. 

When we took some of the " caddie short-cuts " the 



48 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Evanston cad-die spent the time swearing at me because 
I had pulled for my man to hole out. Once when my 
man went into the long grass he stepped on our ball. 
It did him no good because I was watching for just 
such a performance, and easily found it, but I was 
beginning to get angry through and through. Never 
in my life had I cheated for my man, having a great 
belief in fair play. 

I saw that he was an extreme example of what we 
boys were accustomed to call " California caddies/ ' 
the theory being that such boys usually caddied for 
rich men who tipped liberally if their score for the 
day was good, and rich men were supposed to go to 
California in the winter. Of course, the golfers them- 
selves, as a general rule, never realized the result of 
their good-natured generosity. Almost always these 
caddies cheated on the lie. Some of them were very 
clever with their feet. Others would go and sit down 
near the ball and " fix " it with the most foolish grin 
imaginable on their faces ; or else they would pretend 
that they were getting the club ready for the next shot 
and would " ^x " the ball as the club gyrated. 

In the meantime the two players were placidly 
unaware of the raging enmity in the hearts of their 
club bearers — their own rivalry being nothing in com- 
parison. The game kept very close as it went along. 
Several times I saw the caddie get in back of Mr. 
Rogers' line of putt, and I wondered that he did not 
complain. 

The players reached the eighteenth green all square, 
and each had played two, when to my amazement I saw 
the caddie take the flag, the only one he had taken 




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Photo by International Film Service. 

Take a good look at the little gray sweater. It was Evans' 
mascot in his march to victory in the 1910 Western Open golf 
championship. 



A Parting of the Ways 49 

during the whole round. Evidently an idea had struck 
him. Mr. Rogers ' approach putt was a little short, and 
in going to hold the flag for the Evanston man the 
Evanston caddie had deliberately heeled Mr. Rogers ' 
line of putt. The imprint was just enough to hold the 
ball short of the hole on my man's next putt and that 
meant that he was defeated. I saw the handshake of 
the players, and then the crisp dollar bill slide into 
the hands of the Evanston caddie. I also saw red. 
I was not angry because my man lost but because he 
had been cheated. 

The other caddie was larger than I but, throwing 
caution to the winds, I could not keep from telling him 
just what I had seen him do. "Words followed words 
and then one fist followed another. He could hit hard 
but I hardly realized it at the time. The usual caddie 
ring was formed and there, near the sandhole, in the 
cool of the evening, Edgewater took on Evanston 
before a partisan crowd. I did my best, but I might 
have been badly cut up if some of the members had 
not happened along and stopped the fight. 

Living near to a golf course gave to me, the slim, 
frail and small dweller in a large city, certain advan- 
tages that only country boys have, freed, too, from 
much of the drudgery that falls to their lot. Men and 
horses were necessary for the upkeep of the course, 
and there was a great fascination in the hay, the horses 
and the barns to the small boy with his ever-present 
club when he went a- visiting the groundsmen. 

My particular friend was John, who was the all-year- 
around man for a long time, and was succeeded by 
Henry. It was very interesting to see John make holes 



50 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

for the cups. He did it so carefully and so well. In 
the winter he used to cut down a few trees for the club 
fuel and that was another delightful occupation in 
which I shared. 

John had one weakness, — a passion for strong drink. 
He also had a safe guard, a wife. " Old Lady," he 
called her, and she made him bring home every cent 
that he earned. This meant that he drank under 
difficulties. 

Henry, John's successor, was not unfriendly, but he N 
was no conversationalist, and in consequence our rela- 
tions lacked intimacy. There was another John, too, 
and a Pete, just hired for the summer, for often as 
many as five or six men were needed to keep that 
course in trim. 

I made my first acquaintance with Pete when I drove 
a full mashie from in front of Cole's house onto the 
second green. Pete and John were cutting the green, 
and my ball hit Pete as he was bending over. He was 
Polish, I believe, so I can't repeat what he said. He 
knew that I had done it because I had dropped those 
balls all around him before. It took a long while to 
square this, and in the meantime I did lots of little 
things for Pete. 

In spite of the fact that golf clubs could easily be 
turned into death-dealing instruments and strongly 
propelled golf balls might become missiles of death, 
when we consider the great and often careless use of 
both, serious accidents are not very numerous. I recall 
some amusing ones, however. 

I was caddying one day for C. L. Allen. Joe Mor- 
heiser had Arthur Dyrenforth, and Joe Harter carried 



A Parting of the Ways 51 

for W. W. Gurley. The latter player did not drive so 
long a ball as the others, while Mr. Allen always sent 
a straight ball down the center of the course. I went 
np to his ball without paying any particular attention 
to the other players, when, all of a sudden, Mr. Gurley 's 
ball came whizzing along and hit me on the arm. 
Neither he nor I expected so long a shot. I dropped 
with a yell. The pain was slight, but the surprise was 
great, and I thought the only thing to do was to cry. 
1 made a good job of it. 

Everyone gathered around me in sympathy, and poor 
Mr. Gurley was the most frightened and sympathetic 
of all. The only thing he could think of doing was to 
hold out a bright, new dollar bill, saying : " There you 
are sonny; don't cry any more." The remedy acted 
like magic. My tears ceased flowing at once, and from 
that moment the black and blue spot on my arm meant 
nothing to me. 

News travels swiftly in a caddie yard, and in. an 
incredibly short space of time every caddie knew the 
extent of my injury and the balm applied. Within the 
next two or three weeks an amazing number of caddies 
were hit. It seemed that every one at the club was 
willing to risk life and limb for a dollar. After a time 
the casualties ceased. Whether the members had 
caught on or the boys had collected sufficient extra 
money I do not know. 

At another time I had a painless and peculiar acci- 
dent. I was walking quietly along a golf green when a 
smartly rolling ball carried away the heel of my shoe. 
That incident shows what might happen on a golf 
course. My caddie days, however, really trained me 



52 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

to great carefulness, and to that caution I attribute the 
fact that I have never hit any one. Perhaps I should 
knock on wood as I make the statement. 

One of the many pleasant things about caddying was 
the chance that one might be selected for* a trip to 
another club, and every boy just loved that experience. 
He felt that he was being paid for making a pleasure 
trip. During these good old days the Edgewater Golf 
Club played several team matches each year. Among 
those that I recall was an annual event at Kacine, 
where my brother went and one at River Forest, a 
course no longer in existence. 

Much to my delight I was asked by Parsons Warren 
to caddy for him at River Forest. He was then fresh 
from Williams College, and famous in college baseball, 
and he could drive a golf ball a long, long ways. At 
that time he was showing great promise as a player but 
for some reason dropped out of the game later on. 

I gave Mr. Warren's clubs a very extra polish the 
night before the River Forest team match and I was an 
expert in the shining of clubs, one of the quickest and 
most careful of the caddies. I always carried two kinds 
of emery paper, the fairly rough and the smooth, in 
fact, emery paper seemed always to be oozing out of 
my pockets. 

If Parsons Warren did not win his match at 
River Forest it was not because his clubs were not prop- 
erly shined and faced, for I took every precaution, and 
guarded them like a king's treasure. The match with 
Mr. Kettlestrings was very close. I simply agonized 
through it, I was so anxious for " Pat " to win, but he 
lost by a small margin. 



A Parting of the Ways 53 

It was dark by the time the game was finished and 
I remember looking into the locker room at the men 
sitting at the " nineteenth hole/' and envying them. 
Just then Mr. Seaman came out and asked me if one of 
the Edgewater boys would take his clubs back to Edge- 
water. I was very glad of the chance, for it meant 
more money, and soon two bags and a small boy were 
humping along towards a home in Rogers Park. When 
the clubs were safely deposited at the clubhouse, I at 
last sat down to my supper at midnight. 



CHAPTER IV 

ABOUT CADDIES 

Battles with the caddie masters — Story of a 
rubber-core ball — Abe Freeman conducts the first 
walk-out — Other strikes follow in which tar and 
feathers figure. 

Before the advent of a caddie master at Edgewater 
each member engaged any caddie he wished, or perhaps 
more correctly, anyone he could get, and as a system of 
special caddying grew up, certain men always asked for 
particular boys whose work- pleased them. This prob- 
ably was the wrong method, impossible in a large club, 
but out of it grew some of the pleasantest relationships 
of the links. In my own case it has meant many a life- 
long friendship inexpressibly precious to me. 

I believe that the first caddie master we had was 
named James McAfee. I do not remember him very 
well, but I think that he was really the club chef, and 
merely added caddie mastering to his other duties. No 
doubt he would not have known me except for my stay- 
ing qualities. All that I can remember of him is that 
he was a big, fat, gruff fellow who favored the boys who 
could best peel potatoes and were willing to do that 
work. 

There was another one, a red-faced fellow who found 
liquid consolation for his many trials " down at the 
corner," a haven of retreat for many a caddie master. 

54 



About Caddies 55 

The kids were certainly hard upon the caddie masters, 
and the post was often vacant and hard to fill. It is 
true that some caddies tried to be congenial, hoping for 
favors, but others were less considerate and some openly 
defied the boss of the yard. Only the few, however, 
were lawless. The rank and file were simply mischiev- 
ous. At any rate we could not see the need of a caddie 
master, and I fear that we always resented his authority. 

There was one boy, " Hen " Carstens, a very good 
player, who was always known as " Valentine's Cad- 
die." P. A. Valentine was a fine man to caddy for, and 
was much beloved. Many and many a fierce argument 
" Hen " had with Sweeney, the caddie master, over 
Mr. Valentine, but he always got him even if he had to 
go down to the corner and ride up with him. 

It must have been about 1905 that Bob McNulty, 
Everett Bartlett and I laid out seven holes at the north 
end of the course. We did not dare to go beyond the 
second sidewalk, because then we could be seen by the 
club members and the ' ' pro ' ' and would soon be chased 
off. We were very proud of the course but it possessed 
several extremely necessary limitations. Some of the 
holes were tin cans stuck in the ground and others 
merely worn places. We did not dare to mark them 
even with sticks for obvious reasons. The longest hole 
was about 170 yards, about a full shot for us in those 
days. Some of the holes were located in the long grass 
and we judged the distance by memory. 

Here on this diminutive course the " north-end fel- 
lows ' ' had many a battle as long as daylight lasted, and 
when darkness came we would putt awhile. Of course, 
we could only play very early in the morning or late 



56 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

in the evening after the members had gone home. The 
caddies did not consider me a good player on the big 
course, but on the little one I held the record of 19. 

One day I played " Bob " McNulty's and Everett 
Bartlett's best ball with one hand tied behind my back, 
and I beat them. Carlisle Smith, " Pete "as we called 
him, later a third baseman for Boston Nationals, was a 
strong caddie rival on this course. 

The special advantage of these improvised links was 
that we could practice full shots here, instead of the 
eternal putting. The disadvantage of the course, how- 
ever, might have been deemed considerable by our elders. 
There was the constant danger of being discovered, and 
using handkerchiefs to mark the holes while playing in 
the dusky summer evenings was not exactly satisfactory, 
but the boys were enterprising and improvements were 
continually taking place. Finally one of the big boys 
went to work for an electrical firm, and very soon we 
were gaily putting for electric-lighted holes. We prm- 
dently refrained from inquiring as to how he came by 
them. 

I think that it was in 1901 that I saw the first rubber- 
cored ball, an invention destined to play an important 
part in my life thereafter. I treasured that ball for a 
long time and I fancy that I still have it somewhere. I 
had long believed that it was the first rubber-cored ball 
ever played at Edgewater. Later I learned that at 
least two other Edgewater caddies made similar claims. 
Robert McNulty tells me that his brother Louis, who 
died in 1901, owned the first Haskell ball ever played at 
Edgewater (the inventor by the way was at one time a 
member of the Edgewater Club). Robert remembers 



About Caddies 57 

that Arthur Dyrenforth brought the ball to Edgewater. 
He says that it was not marked with any name, and 
looked like an old " re-made." Mr. Dyrenforth drove 
it over the fence on the second hole, and after Louis had 
finished caddying he went over and got it. 

Frank Douglass is equally certain that he possessed 
the first Haskell ever played at Edgewater, and I have 
long cherished the same belief about myself. 

I know that Henry Carstens had the first luminous 
ball, and, gee, how we envied him. The ball had belonged 
to J. C. Brocklebank. He was trying it out in a game 
with E. M. Lapham. I do not know the exact steps by 
which it came into " Hen's " possession, but I know 
exactly how it came into mine. " Hen " used it in the 
putting matches on the old second green, and then he 
began playing with it after dinner each evening. On 
one such occasion I was coming home rather late at night 
when the shining ball dropped near me, and it and I 
quickly disappeared in the darkness. I had longed for 
just such a miracle. 

It may be a question as to whether I really obtained 
the first rubber-core ball used at Edgewater, but the 
manner in which I made my first acquaintance with one 
is rather interesting. One fact is very plain, I had no 
money to buy one, and no real use for that particular 
kind of ball but its fame had spread through the caddie 
yard. 

It was on a Sunday afternoon that I saw Harry Turpie 
playing this new ball for the first time. The other men 
playing with him were his brother George and two of 
the club members, P. P. Schmitt and E. H. Seaman, I 
think, and there was something of a crowd following the 



58 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

players. I was not employed that day, but had saun- 
tered from my home looking for amusement on the 
links. Probably also I appeared more innocent than 
usual because I was wearing my Sunday clothes. 

I can recall to this day what a wonderful ball it was 
and how far it went off Turpie r s driver, and that excel- 
lent mashie player had to work hard to keep his 
approaches short of the hole. After a pretty drive on 
the sixth Turpie pulled a long second over the railroad 
tracks, or rather into the ditch over the fence near the 
tracks. " Grubby," who was caddying for Turpie, shot 
out after that " only rubber-core, ' ' and as might be 
expected under the circumstances Turpie was swearing 
a little. I saw just where it went and, believe me, I was 
good at knowing where a ball went when I was a caddie, 
for I seldom lost one. So I followed " Grubby," and 
then we all left on the run to get it for Turpie. 

All the time they were hunting I knew where the ball 
was — I could just see the little gleam of white deep 
down in a big bunch of grass on the embankment. Every 
one thought that it was in the bottom of the ditch, and 
Good Heavens, how they did look for that ball ! Finally 
I decided on a plan. I went right over and sat on it, 
remarking at the same time how tired I was. Then I 
slipped it under the rubber band of my blouse, and we 
looked some more. Turpie finally gave it up but 
" Grubby," suspicious, remarked that he thought I had 
it, " for I seen him looking funny, and I know he was 
* hot.' " As there was no substantial evidence support- 
ing the accusation I proceeded on my way rejoicing in 
the possession of this wonderful but ill-gotten ball. I 
hit it quietly with my little cleek. and oh, how distinctly 



About Caddies 59 

different it felt from the old hard balls. How soft and 
sweet was the sound and whack of it. 

I was eleven years old and I thought I was getting 
even with Turpie and Grubbjr for past wrongs, and 
should have suffered the pangs of a guilty conscience, 
but I did not. I thoroughly enjoyed having that ball 
and the manner in which I obtained it. It opened a 
new world to me, and I have always felt that Fate was 
particularly kind in sending me into the game at the 
big transition time from hard to soft balls. I am very 
grateful to Mr. Haskell. 

One morning following a certain Halloween, Turpie, 
with blood in his eye, lined us all up preparatory to a 
general firing, for every movable object on the course 
had changed its place on the previous night. The sand- 
boxes were on the railroad tracks, the flags were probably 
miles away, and when we looked around we hardly knew 
our own course. 

After a little lecture from Turpie, brimful of threats, 
a chastened and repentant crowd of boys went out, col- 
lected and carefully replaced the missing objects. For 
several years thereafter each October 31, before the 
shadows of Halloween began to fall, we put away every- 
thing on the course. It was a great deal of trouble, but 
it saved property. Boys ' memories are short-lived, how- 
ever, and some years later when Turpie 's warning was 
forgotten, something serious, although at the same time 
humorous, occurred. I think that it must have been in 
1902 or '03, when Chester Horton was professional and 
Tom Riley caddie master. 

The old second green was a fine target for a quick 
slice off the third tee and after Mr. Lapp had been 



60 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

grazed by a sliced shot made by Mr. Pickrell, the club 
erected a wire screen from the tee to a point far enough 
along to protect the player on the green. On this Hal- 
loween we tore this down and distributed it widely. 
There really wasn 't anything funny about this, but some 
kid had suggested it and the rest of us concluded that it 
was a very humorous idea. One of the fellows saved 
part of it for a backstop on our baseball field. The rest 
of it was just thrown around. When the members 
caught sight of this piece of vandalism they were very 
angry. One of the boys was caught. He told on the rest 
of us, and we were all taken to the Sheffield Avenue 
Police Station. I suppose the members by that time had 
come to the conclusion that we all needed a severe lesson. 

We boys were scared stiff, of course. I had been very 
careful about not mentioning it at home until it was all 
over, but some of the boys, thinking that they were 
headed straight for prison cells, were accompanied by 
near and distant relatives. Some of the mothers were 
in tears. 

I think that we all confessed our share in the mischief 
and the older boys as usual tried to make it appear that 
the little ones were to blame. 

The officials seemed to find the whole affair quite 
funny. There was a lawyer who asked me, much to the 
amusement of the judge, if I knew the difference between 
a cleek and a mashie, but we caddies could not even 
smile at that. 

Nothing was done to us, of course, but when we got 
outside no air ever seemed sweeter and freer, for we had 
been dreaming for many nights of big policemen, steel 
bars and clammy walls. The club was nice about telling 



About Caddies 61 

us to come back and caddy, for after all they needed us 
as much as we needed them, and on our part we were 
very thankful not to be either jailed or expelled from 
the club. I think that we paid at least part of the 
expense of putting up a new fence, and caddied several 
weeks without pay. 

We had strikes and rumors of strikes down in the 
Edgewater Golf Club caddie yard. It is astonishing how 
human nature exerts itself even at an early age and it 
was not long after the club was started before one of the 
kids, with a gift for leadership, started a walkout. He 
was Abe Freeman. To our suburban imaginations the 
ten cents for nine holes, sweetened by many a tip from 
generous men like Mr. Weaver and Mr. Taylor, was fine 
pay, but Abe had bigger ideas, and he soon got the other 
caddies to his way of thinking. When this happened I 
was too small to be considered, but I learned that Leon- 
ard Larson told Mr. Koehler about it, and as he hap- 
pened to be a director he soon had it arranged to give 
the boys fifteen cents for nine holes. 

Soon afterwards Freeman went away, and I have 
never heard of him since. We learned later that the 
reason that he wanted the extra nickel a round was 
because he was giving the caddie master that amount for 
the good jobs. It was the first time that a money-getter, 
or real merchant, had come into our ranks, and his way 
of figuring things out made us dizzy. It must have put 
the idea into our heads, however, for there were other 
strikes, and they were very characteristic of American 
boys as I knew them. Our strikes were never for money, 
but for playing privileges, and to get rid of hated 
officials. 



62 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I was not much of a participant in the second strike 
for I was still considered too young. Its object was to 
get rid of the caddie master, and the complaints against 
him were that he was brutal to the boys, held out their 
money, played favorites, and was generally incompetent. 
The strike did not go far. A spokesman called the atten- 
tion of the proper members to the grievances, and the 
caddie master disappeared and all was well. 

The last strike was really my own. We had been 
allowed to play on the course every morning until 8 
o'clock, and on Mondays until 9. We had a putting- 
course in the caddie yard where we practiced during our 
spare time. We were also accustomed while caddying to 
put our clubs in the members' bags so that we could 
swing them between the tees. Sometimes we forgot and 
swung the members' clubs instead of our own. As I 
look back upon it now I think that no club was ever more 
easy going in granting playing privileges, and no crowd 
of caddies ever swung golf clubs under pleasanter con- 
ditions. Suddenly all this was changed. With one 
deadly blow the hopes of all the prospective young golf 
champions were blasted. Even when we played late at 
night, at the farthest edges of the course, we were chased 
away. 

The professional was not wholly to blame, for some of 
the boys had not replaced divots, and they had probably 
injured the course. The members had complained about 
the condition of the course, and as the " pro " was 
greenkeeper, he decided the easiest remedy would be to 
keep the boys away. It was impossible to keep us from 
all parts of the course, for we had expert ways of duck- 
ing in and out, but we missed the real playing, our caddie 



About Caddies 63 

team matches, and the little tournaments we held in the 
early hours of the morning. 

The drastic change was soul-crushing, for much as we 
liked the money we made, the real lure that held us to 
the course was the privilege of playing. I said that I 
started the strike, for playing was beginning to be the 
breath of life to me, but soon the big boys took it out of 
my hands and carried it to a successful conclusion. I 
can see the boys now, each with his club, hanging around 
the outskirts of the grounds, hunting balls and picketing 
the course. Any boy who attempted to get back onto 
the grounds and carry double was taken care of 
quietly and thoroughly. Mr. Silsbee brought one of his 
daughters out to caddy for him and that presented a 
delicate problem which we did not solve. 

The club members did not exactly like the idea of our 
appearing to dictate to them and so the strike continued 
through the week to the busy Saturday afternoon but it 
could be seen that the club members were uncomfortable 
carrying their bags, and some were going around with 
a single club. 

Saturday arrived, bringing beautiful weather. Many 
members came out, asked for caddies, were told we were 
on a strike, complained mildly — although some were 
amused and others angry — and went along. We must 
have made an amusing spectacle — a bunch of deter- 
mined kids, lustily yelling " strike/' as we were perched 
on a high fence so that the members could get a good 
view of us. When we were chased off, which was often, 
we appeared on another sector. 

About the middle of the afternoon J. M. Moulding, 
always our friend, and Feno Smith, the club secretary, 



64 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

caine over towards the fence just back of the ninth green. 
We were about to duck when we heard Mr. Moulding 
say, " Wait a minute, boys." Some of the kids had 
already jumped down on the other side, but they came 
back when Mr. Moulding said that he and Mr. Smith 
wanted to talk to the spokesman. When the committee 
of big boys jumped down into the yard I followed, and 
standing at the edge of the little crowd I heard Mr. 
Moulding reason it out with them. It was agreed to let 
us play Monday and Thursday mornings until 10 o'clock, 
if we would go to work immediately. 

We were also little savages in many ways, too, and we 
tarred and feathered Willie Grubb for beating the strike, 
and I recall with shame how much his mother depended 
on the money he brought home. 

We might have struck for better accommodations, but 
golf then was new to both club members and boys, and 
no one expected much. When I look at the sumptuous 
caddie quarters of the present day, and remember what 
ours were, the thought comes to me that I should like to 
see the contrasted pictures. It might make the boys of 
today more contented. 

There was one more strike at Edgewater, but it was 
after my time, and ended disastrously for the caddies. 
Some of the boys went up to Exmoor for Saturday and 
Sunday, and discovered that the caddies up there were 
getting twenty cents an hour. They talked it over in the 
yard in their usual way, and began to think that they 
were badly treated. 

When the boys presented their grievance, Riley 
laughed at them, and told them that they were lucky to 
be alive. A few days later they struck and not a mem- 




Types of Old World caddies and a caddy master. Below is a 
group of caddies at St Andrew- Golf Club. Scotland. In the npper 
right hand corner sits the late James McDonald, famous caddie at 
same club. The one in uniform is caddy master at La Boulie, Paris, 



«r* 







Scenes from the British Amateur golf tourney at Prestwick in 
1911. In the upper picture Evans is shown getting out of the 
rough; in the lower he is putting. 








Photo by Pietzcker, St. Louis. 

Harold H. Hilton, noted British amateur golfer, whom Evans 
defeated for the low qualifying medal in the 1912 National Amateur 
championship at the Chicago Golf Club. 



About Caddies 65 

ber knew why. Riley and Turpie kicked out a few, fired 
others, and the boys came back. Afterwards it was 
learned that the best caddies got twenty cents an hour. 
Joe Morheiser held the record of fourteen dollars for 
the week, but that was when the other boys were at 
school, and good Mrs. Brower and her friend came out 
every day, and Joe carried double for them. Then, too, 
I think that Joe, who was a fine player, gave lessons for 
money for I remember that the professional was very 
angry about it, as, of course, it interfered with his earn- 
ings. Earnings of the Edge water caddies could be said 
to run from fifty cents for a week up to the record of 
fourteen dollars. Five to ten a week was not so very 
uncommon. 



CHAPTER V 

CADDY DAYS AND WAYS 

A great masMe player gets an admiring pupil 
— Hole in one through the kitchen screen — 
Apples cause of downfall in first caddie tourna- 
ment. 

There is not much that I can say about playing at the 
early period of caddying which will help other caddies 
to become good golfers. As soon as I possessed a golf 
club I kept it in my hand most of the time, and swung 
it in as close an imitation of the best players as was 
possible to me, but my method, I regret to say, was 
wrrong, and that meant many a month of discourage- 
ment. After all is said, it was my good caddying, not 
my good playing, that brought me out of the heap of 
other caddies, and to the attention of the members. Later 
on I received help and encouragement from them, but I 
earned it first by toting a bag. 

Caddies play under great difficulties. It is a rare thing 
for them to be able to cover a course under actual play- 
ing conditions, in spite of the fact that they play a 
great deal. Round after round we had at Old Edgewater 
Jbefore 8 in the morning, and we would come in happy 
and excited, with feet sopping wet from the dewy 
grass. 

There is one thing that I particularly owe to Harry 
Turpie, and it is much. When he was first at Edge- 

66 



Caddy Days and Ways 67 

water I heard him say that the mashie was the most 
important club in the player's bag. This sunk in, for 
Turpie was a beautiful mashie player. I could not have 
found a better model for that shot as at that time he 
was one of the best professional players in the Chicago 
district. I caddied for him several times and mind and 
eye were busy copying one of the prettiest mashie players 
the game has ever known. 

About this time Mrs. E. M. Lapham gave me a ladies' 
lofter, made by Turpie, and if ever a boy practiced with 
a club I did with this one. I can picture that beloved 
blade, worn thin by emery paper and constant practice 
even now, after all these years. It was my habit to hit 
a ball from my house down to the club, back and forth, 
full shots and half, from home to clubhouse. I think 
that it was in my practice with this club that the Old 
Edgewater members best recall me. Out from a corner of 
the kitchen, the nearest room to the clubhouse, I would 
grab that Turpie lofter, open the door, and drop 
two golf balls out of my pocket into the middle of the 
backyard. 

A few practice swings, and I would tee the balls up 
and pitch them over Grund 's fence into the alley towards 
Southport Avenue. Then I would loft them onto 
the little stretch of lawn at the side of Cosby 's or 
Bredow 's house. Thence I would send them towards the 
walks leading to the street in front of each house, 
Bredow 's, Himmel's, Dabelstein 's, Obermyers', Win- 
chell's, Douglass' and Hetherington 's. When I reached 
the last two I pitched over onto the old " Birches " 
green, chipped it to the edge, and started with full shots 
for the clubhouse, taking a circuitous route if the 



68 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

" pro " appeared to be in a bad humor, or a straight 
one if he seemed pleasantly inclined. Twice every day 
I made the journey, and whole days of caddying I 
made it four times. 

Chester Horton followed Harry Turpie as professional, 
with many theories about the teaching of golf, all of 
which we were too young to appreciate. He had a very 
interesting and successful pupil in Miss Bessie Anthony, 
afterwards nationally known, and she often came to 
Edgewater for lessons. I sometimes caddied on these 
occasions and picked up many good points. It is a good 
thing for a boy to be able to caddy for a professional 
when he is giving lessons. 

Horton had two brothers. One of them, Elijah, worked 
in the shop, and he was very nice to us boys. Being 
young himself he frequently played with us. "When 
Chester was away, some of the boldest of us would go 
into the shop and talk to Elijah. Many a time I sand- 
papered shafts for him and considered it a great privi- 
lege to be allowed to do it. I think that it was Elijah 
who taught me how to tie the knot used to fasten the 
whipping on the club. Often and often I have had 
occasion to use that knot since. There is always the 
time when even the humblest knowledge does not come 
amiss. 

Horton 's other brother was named Waverly and he 
could drive the longest ball I ever saw hit at Old Edge- 
water. He used to come out late at night to drive balls, 
and I loved to chase them for him, just for the pleasure 
of seeing him do it. 

About this time I began to connect every spare bit of 
ground with golf, and in accordance with this thought 



Caddy Days and Ways 69 

I built a five-hole putting course in our back yard, the 
holes being tomato cans sunk in the ground. Until 
this was done there had always been considerable diffi- 
culty in getting me to cut the back lawn, but after the 
course was laid out I insisted upon doing it with sur- 
prising frequency. I even wanted to roll it. 

It happened that some time before I had brought a 
small box-elder from the woods near the lake and planted 
it at the side of the house, where, if it had been larger, 
it might have screened the back lawn from the side and 
front. With my mind obsessed by golf the thought 
came that this bush would make an admirable thing 
to pitch my mashie shots over. A flower pot was sunk 
in the side lawn, and from the back I pitched the ball 
over the bush to within putting distance of the hole. 
Once started, this practice became a regular daily habit, 
and to it I can attribute much of my present ability 
to place my shots. I looked at that tree the other day 
and its size reminded me, as nothing else could, of the 
passage of time. 

Of course, my sort of practicing was not carried on 
without accidents, both to our windows and to those of 
our neighbors. Once I sent a golf ball through an open 
basement window and it landed in a laundry where a 
German woman was washing. She was very angry and 
kept the ball. I fancy that she thought I was trying 
to kill her. 

At another time I had a very singular accident, an 
unexpected sort of a hole in one. There was an alley 
back of our lot and coming down from Devon another 
joined to it at right angles in the middle of the lot. 
Standing far up this alley I concluded to try to drive 



70 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

a ball onto our back lawn. The ball sailed through a 
small hole in a screen protecting a closed kitchen window 
breaking the glass. Fortunately it was our own kitchen 
window. 

My golf practice has always had a systematic regu- 
larity about it. My method of playing, judged by my 
present knowledge, was, I consider, entirely wrong, 
for I palmed all my shots to get the club over my 
shoulder, but because I was hitting a ball so often the 
result was fairly good. It requires a tremendous amount 
of practice to keep the palm-gripped shot in order. 

The caddie tournaments were times of great excite- 
ment. Weeks before they took place each boy would 
get together all the clubs that he could, and never an 
opportunity for practice was overlooked. The old caddie 
yard fairly buzzed and many individual games were 
arranged to be played in connection with the annual 
tournament, and the customary wager of a penny was 
increased to a nickel and in the case of the big boys 
sometimes, but not often, a whole quarter would be 
risked. 

Once Harry Turpie put up a full set of golf clubs 
to be played for by the caddies. The event was to be 
held on a Sunday morning with the understanding 
that it must finish before 8 :30 when the members would 
be arriving. 

We played around in twos, threes and " gangsomes ' 
as we called them, and a certain two, when the returns 
came in, showed a lamentable ignorance of addition, but 
crimination and recrimination were the order of the day 
in that caddie yard. It sounded like a debating society 
organized with little regard for rules. 



Caddy Days and Ways 71 

The clubs were won, I think, by Frank Douglass, one 
of the best players among the larger boys, and the 
runner-up was, if my memory serves me, Dan Morheiser. 
It is hardly necessary to say that I was not among the 
leaders. 

The biggest tournament of all was for a fine set of 
clubs put up by F. E. Donohoe, one of the club members. 
It consisted of a driver, brassie; midiron, mashie and 
putter. It was a tempting collection. I did not play in 
the event. I suppose I was not considered good enough, 
but I caddied for my brother who was beaten by Joe 
Morheiser. Frank Douglass played Dan Morheiser in 
the finals, and there was the usual argument as to the 
result, but Frank got the clubs. He turned over an old 
set of his, which happened to be pretty good, as a prize 
for the runner-up. There were three of these Morheiser 
boys who caddied regularly at Edgewater and they were 
all good players, although Herbert Tweedie once told 
one of them that he would have to change his name to 
McTavish if he ever expected to play good golf. 

I really did not stand so well in my golf playing as in 
other games, and only once did I win a caddie tourna- 
ment, but the winning of tournaments I learned soon was 
not entirely a matter of skill, but of handicapping and 
pairing, and I was never allowed to have anything to 
say about either. My game was either slow in develop- 
ing, or I had less conceit about it. The members, how- 
ever, were very encouraging, but I rarely received any- 
thing but the most uncomplimentary criticisms from the 
boys in the caddie yard. A favorite criticism was that 
I had altogether too bad a temper to succeed at golf. 

The big Edgewater caddies had a caddie team when I 



72 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

was getting to be a pretty big boy myself. This team 
was scheduled to play a team of Midlothian caddies on 
the Midlothian course. After considerable deliberation, 
and as a great favor, I was allowed to go along. The 
position given me was last place. I fully appreciated the 
honor but failed to take into consideration the great 
risk involved in playing on that particular links. There 
were remnants of an old apple orchard on the Midlothian 
course. I am very fond of apples, and like Adam of 
old, I also fell. It was a very warm day and eating 
freely of the fruit I suffered the usual consequences. 
My game was really past praying for, and my over- 
whelming defeat caused the failure of the Edgewater 
team. 

I shall never forget my feelings as I came up the 
eighteenth hole. All the other matches were finished, 
and my team mates were waiting for me. My disgrace 
was complete, for Edgewater had been 3 up on the 
total result until my sickening overthrow. 

I was told pointedly and with a wealth of detail that 
I would never again enjoy the great honor of being the 
last man on that caddie team, for as a golfer I was a 
complete and disgraceful failure. 

After I grew up a little more and almost at the end 
of my caddie days, I recall a very tight team match 
between the Edgewater caddies and the Jackson Parks. 
By that time I had worked myself up to the position 
of first man on our team, and the leader on the Jackson 
Park team was a chap named Loren Hibbard, who was 
a promising golfer in those days and for a few years 
thereafter, and then dropped out of sight. He was as 
intensely interested in golf as I was and I recall that he 



Caddy Days and Ways 73 

made his own wooden clubs, a feat that I, having very 
little talent for mechanical work, considered wonderful. 
I just managed to beat Loren in our team match and the 
Edgewaters won. After that I had several other close 
successes playing against him, but I am sorry now if 
those lucky wins of mine drove him from the game for 
he was a fine little player. By this time I was advancing, 
but I had traveled a hard road. 

It must be borne in mind that we caddies never had 
any instruction, but learned chiefly by imitation, and 
this we did to the queen's taste. The players we admired 
most were our chief subjects. Almost any little fellow 
swinging a club out in a caddie yard would look as I 
did then. I had very few clubs and those I had were 
cheap ones, but in addition I failed to handle properly 
the tools I had. In my first, unguided impulse I gripped 
the club in the fingers with the thumbs straight down 
the shaft. In consequence I never had a full swing. 
Indeed, I had only a short half swing. It made me a 
great deal of trouble for a time, but I had reason to 
be glad of this afterwards, for it taught me to hit the 
ball accurately, w T hereas, if I had been swinging fully 
and wildly, I should have lost a certain sense of value 
that I gave to the accurate hitting of the ball. 

My brother was one of the best players among the 
caddies, and he had naturally a fine dashing style. He 
being older usually had pretty good clubs and balls 
even if some of them had belonged to me originally. 
Many a fight we had over them, and, indeed, my life in 
the caddie yard was one of constant combat. 

My associations with the members, even when I was 
a mere lad, were friendly and encouraging, but my 



74 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

relation with the boys was one of turmoil. The thought 
has occurred to me that these experiences unconsciously 
have brought about the condition that throughout my 
life I have had so few intimate friendships with younger 
men, while words fail me to describe how close, endearing 
and enduring have been my associations with my elders. 
If my caddying at Edgewater had brought me nothing 
except my friendships with the Edgewater men I should 
always regard it as abundantly justified. 

As a boy I was accused of having a terrible temper, 
and golf so taught me to control it that hardly a remnant 
of it exists today. Perhaps, since life has been kind to 
me, I deceive myself, and it is merely slumbering. I 
remember that once, out in our own back yard, I became 
so angry with my brother that I took his favorite 
mashie and broke it against our old birch tree. As a 
golfer I knew just what a terrible thing it was. My 
brother was to play Bruce McRoberts the next day for 
some old balls, and what he did to me I do not care to 
set down. 

One day my brother got up a caddie tournament, and 
C. K. Miller, one of the members, said that he would 
give a prize to the winner. The event, which was largely 
attended, was held between the hours of 5 and 7 A. M., 
on a day in June, 1903. I am not quite sure of the year, 
however. The qualifying round was nine holes, and my 
brother had low score. 

The card, which may be of some interest, read : Eliot 
Evans, 43 ; Chick Evans, 48 ; Robert McNulty, 50 ; Ken- 
neth Wilmarth, 56 ; "William Harvey, 56 ; William John- 
son, 57 ; Howell Jenkins, 59 ; Everett Bartlett, 59. 

These scores are set down on the crude elimination 



Caddy Days and Ways 75 

sheet, yellowed with age, that lies before me. My brother 
and I got it up, and we were very proud of its regu- 
lar appearance. The bracketing was begun in my 
brother's handwriting but after his defeat by Kenneth 
Wilmarth he lost interest in it, and I kept it up to the 
end. It was the first time I had ever won anything. 

I can vouch for my own score, and it is interesting 
to me now that at that time I was just breaking under 
50. I have always been very careful about my scores, 
and only once in my life have I cheated in golf, and that 
was to get a match-play crack at those who started the 
cheating. I do not recommend that method but it was an 
instinctive seizing of the only weapon at my command. 

Caddies are inclined to help out scores a bit, and it 
is a pity. Even the slightest dishonest practice eats the 
heart out of a sport. Leaving out the question of ethics 
and honor, it is a wholly illogical thing. A man might, 
if he were dishonest, cheat in business and attain his 
object — money — but in sport the object is the attain- 
ment of personal skill, and no cheating in the world can 
ever give him that. 

One fact in regard to my caddie days stands out in 
my mind, and I offer it to the consideration of ambitious 
caddies. When I began to play, comparing myself with 
those of approximate age and experience, I was for 
several years one of the worst players, but in the last 
year or so I had left the crowd far behind and was 
unquestionably the best. Over and over again I had seen 
good players ruined by an easily satisfied conceit and now 
looking backward I attribute my improved game to the 
fact that in humility of spirit I saw mv faults clearly 
and worked constantly to improve them. 



CHAPTER VI 

" JOHNNIE » AND " CHICK " 

Beauty and charm often a bar to greatness on 
the links — Tom O'Neil and his new assistant — 
Why a caddie became a total abstainer — A course \ 
in shop craft. 

Although I caddied for a great many men at Edge- 
water, I carried mostly for women, taking my seven 
or eight years of caddie life as a whole. Perhaps it 
was because I began by caddying with a woman and 
it w 7 as easier to get work from a woman when I was 
so small that I could only stagger under a man's load 
of clubs. Maybe, too, I inclined to the gentler sex 
when I grew older, because there was always a better 
chance to caddy for them at outside tourneys and I 
liked that. 

Among the women members of Edgewater was an 
official and leading spirit in the Western Women's 
Golf Association, a very good player, who was kindness 
itself to the thin, freekle-faced boy of those days who 
had many troubles of his own. This was Mrs. A. T. H. 
Brower, and I would have done anything in my power 
for her then, and would now, for that matter, for my 
regard for her has never changed throughout the years. 
Mrs. Brower came out very often early in the morning 
to play around and, in those quiet times, we became 
well acquainted. She took me to many outside tourna- 

76 



" Johnnie " and " Chick " 77 

ments, but well as she played and pull as I might she 
never won the largest events we tried for because too 
much of her time was given to the executive part of 
the game. Her special talent in this direction was 
recognized by continual election to office. 

Mrs. Brower was so encouraging and kind to me that 
I fell into the habit of going to the women's tourna- 
ments and at one of these I began to caddy for Miss 
Olive Mitchell of Racine. I thought that she was a 
charming young woman, that she was a coming golfer, 
and that she had a pretty name. She never became a 
very good golfer, however, and I fear that, towards 
the end, she began to think that I was an unlucky 
caddie and would have liked to avoid the persistent 
youngster. As I know now, the real reason for her lack 
of success was her popularity. She was a most attrac- 
tive young woman and always surrounded by admirers 
and golf is much too jealous a mistress to accept a 
divided allegiance. 

About this time Frank Cook, a fellow caddie, was 
carrying steadily for Miss J. Anna Carpenter, better 
known as " Johnnie " Carpenter, a striking young 
player, who had once won the Women's Western Cham- 
pionship in a spectacular manner. Frank's mother had 
been objecting to his caddying for a long time and he 
introduced me to Miss Carpenter with the idea that I 
might become his successor. With that introduction 
began an interesting experience and a warm friendship. 
I went to all the local tournaments with her and we 
became known to many of the women golfers as " John- 
nie and Chick." She won all the open events that 
season except the Western Championship, which she 



78 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

lost to Miss Frances Everett of Exmoor, a fine, aggres- 
sive player — but, although she came near some of the 
biggest championships, she did not quite make any. I 
was with Miss Carpenter at the Chicago Golf Club in 
1903 when Miss Bessie Anthony beat her 7 and 6 for the 
National. Nine years later I lost to Travers on the 
same course in the Men's National by a similar score. 

That Christmas Miss Carpenter gave me a pearl- 
handled knife, engraved: " Chick, Christmas, 1903." 
With that knife I carved my initials over all the 
wooden portions of the golf courses around Chicago, 
and my crowning effort was on the fence at Edge- 
water, where I slowly and laboriously cut out the 
legend — " Chick, Miss Carpenter's caddie." Soon, 
however, that loved knife went the way of most of my 
other valuables — I lost it. Years later, as Mrs. Hall, 
she, returning from abroad where she had served as 
nurse during the world war, brought me another. 

In 1904 Miss Carpenter became acquainted with a 
Mr. Hall, a university professor, who began to accom- 
pany her to different tournaments. I recall that I did 
not like him, partly because he once made a remark 
about a big freckle on my ear — and I was sensitive 
about my freckles — but most of all because he was tak- 
ing her mind from her game. The professor won out, 
however, and the following year Miss Carpenter became 
Mrs. Hall. 

Probably my last experience caddying for ladies and, 
indeed for anyone, was in the Annual Women's Tour- 
nament at Edgewater. This was always a well-con- 
tested event. There was entered a delightful woman, 
Miss Elizabeth Young from Calumet, who was much 



" Johnnie " and " Chick " 79 

interested in golf in those days. I got her for the tour- 
nament. She was a good player, but extremely nervous. 
We won the event. I say " we " for she insisted that 
my knowledge of the course was of great assistance to 
her. In the finals she met Miss Isabel Smith of Evan- 
ston, a young but a slashing fine player. At the con- 
clusion of the match Miss Young asked me if I would 
not caddy for her throughout the season. 

Mrs. F. E. Donohoe was one of the best Chicago 
women players of that time, and a member of Edge- 
water. She had a good, free and easy sweep and putted 
easily and successfully. She called me her favorite 
caddie and once took me to a tournament. 

I caddied very often for Miss Marion Warren, daugh- 
ter of W. S. Warren. She had a fine, free swing and 
played a good iron shot, but she was a poor putter. I 
thought at one time that she was going to be a great 
golfer. ' She was an athletic girl and I am sure that if 
she had studied the game more she would have made 
one of the country's finest women players. She is now 
Mrs. Sanger Steel and lives at Hartsdale, N. Y. 

The boys all considered Mrs. David Maxwell a 
" peach " to caddy for. She played often and was 
always very jolly and snappily dressed. Another lady 
for whom I caddied rather often was Mrs. E. S. Jack- 
man. She was a kindly woman and hit a good ball. 

Tom O'Neil came to the Edgewater Golf Club in 
1904. Our association during the three years he was 
there is a story of an intimate friendship between a 
caddie and a " pro." Most professionals look upon a 
caddie as a necessary nuisance. The mischievousness 
of the small boy is very trying and his playing on the 



80 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

course adds considerably to the work of its upkeep. 

I remember well the day in 1904 when Tom first 
came to the club. I was around of course and helped 
him to unpack. How excited I grew over his clubs. 
There were some dandy, new, shining ones, and a ship- 
ment of Stewart irons, with the pipes on the back, 
glittering like gold to my eyes. 

I hung around Tom in an excess of hero worship, 
and he was kind and patient with me and to all small 
boys in fact, for from the moment that he came he 
was a friend to the caddies and generous with playing 
privileges. Big, good-natured and cheerful, he appar- 
ently took an immediate liking for me. It was a pleas- 
ure to caddy or, indeed, to do anything for him. He 
was also friendly with the caddie master, and between 
them I fared well. I think that I must have been mak- 
ing as much as five dollars a week. That meant steady 
work, but I fear it would be considered very poor pay 
now. Only the other day I saw that many caddies are 
now being pai-d $1.60 for thirty-six holes. 

Tom O'Neil belonged to that class of men who are 
their own worst enemies. He was one of the best 
friends that I ever had and I am glad to have known 
him, but he suffered from one of the saddest weak- 
nesses of mankind. I am no prohibitionist, but Tom 
O'Neil is one of the many reasons why I am and always 
have been a total abstainer. 

Tom did not play much golf, but he had many good 
ideas about the game and he was lenient about my 
playing, and I often carried for him. 

When the big professional championship at Home- 
wood was played, I went down to caddy for him. Of 




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John Graham, Jr., British golfer, considered by Chick Evans 
as the greatest amateur player of the present day generation. He 
was killed in action during the late war. 



" Johnnie " and " Chick " 81 

course I did not know how well the other men played, 
but the night before I dreamed that Tom would win, 
and I prayed that he would. I had gone out there one 
day before, and I had it all figured out how he would 
win. I shall never forget with what breathless anxiety 
I waited for the starter to call Tom's name. 

He went around in 78, which made him about twelfth, 
but somehow I felt that he would still pull through. At 
the end of the first 36 holes he remained at about that 
position, and I went home and prayed some more. No 
one got more 2's and 3's than I got for Tom that night. 

I was waiting at the tee next morning when he 
showed up, hopelessly unfit. He had not been in bed 
at all, but had made a night of it " with the boys." 
He could not have played worse, and it was a very 
heartbroken boy who crept back to Edgewater with 
Tom's clubs. Tom himself did not come to the club 
for several days. 

The spring of 1905 came and Tom was opening up 
again. The slim, freckle-faced boy was still around, 
swinging his club and willing and anxious to do any- 
thing for anybody. During 1904 Tom had had an 
assistant in the shop. He had another one engaged for 
1905, but he didn't show up, and as I was always there 
and it was early in the season, few players being out, I 
did what I could to help him out. I was then going to 
Evanston Academy and my school work suffered, but 
I went down to the shop after school. Then Tom 
decided to have me as assistant for the season, manag- 
ing the best he could until I was out of school. It was 
a great experience. 

Tom's intentions were always good and so, until I 



82 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

got out of school, lie was on the job pretty regularly. 
Of course I ran the shop on Saturdays and Sundays. 
I would go over to the club very early in the morn- 
ing, sweep out the shop thoroughly and place all the 
tools in position on the bench. Tom had a bed adjoin- 
ing the shop where he slept occasionally but I never 
disturbed him. Of course this arrangement of time 
meant that I played over to the club and back again 
before breakfast. After that, on school days, I went 
to my classes. On holidays I worked on clubs. Some 
one really should have been in the shop all the time, 
but under our arrangement it was not always practi- 
cable, for Tom and the caddie master were too near the 
saloons on Devon. About that time the " pros " were 
beginning to take care of the members ' clubs, and that 
work fell to me, too. My pay was a little irregular, 
depending on how much Tom had not spent the night 
before. 

The year 1905 was interesting and epochal for me 
and filled with responsibility. Tom's habit of drinking 
grew steadily worse but it never seemed to affect his 
pleasant disposition. Even when I went down to the 
corner saloon, and that was only too often, insisting 
that he come back to the shop, he was always kind, 
whether he accepted my suggestions or not. In all our 
association under many trying circumstances we never 
had a row, but in spite of his amiability I could not 
devise any means to induce him to stop drinking. 

By the time school was out a fifteen-year-old kid was 
running the " pro " shop at Edgewater, working from 
early morning until late at night and really making 
the shop pay. Tom had a peculiar way of keeping 



" Johnnie " and " Chick " 83 

books, and sent out his bills when he felt like it. After 
I took charge the bills went out regularly each month 
and the money was promptly collected. 

Golf lessons ceased at Edgewater. Of course when- 
ever I was asked out to play with a member I jumped 
at the chance, and would have been only too glad to 
tell them the little that I had picked up about the 
game. I hope that I did not tell many, for measured 
by my present knowledge, I think that everything that 
I knew then was wrong. 

By that time I knew every playing member by name 
even to the initials, and by the end of the season I also 
knew how to make a club and I could wind the whip- 
ping around a spliced shaft as fast as any one. I even 
originated a way to do this and the - black cords fitted 
snugly and tightly together. 

I was doing a great deal of downright, hard work, 
but the hardest of all was trying to keep Tom out of 
the members' way when he was in no condition to be 
seen. I, however, knew there was bound to be an end 
to the patience of even the most lenient of men. 

About this time Sam Park of Beaumont, Texas, took 
a summer membership at Edgewater. Through his 
influence Tom was engaged as professional at the Beau- 
mont Country Club, for like the rest of us he was very 
fond of Tom. It was hoped that change of scene and 
general environment would work the miracle we were 
fill praying for. Later on Tom gave up golf and has 
gradually dropped out of sight, but wherever he may 
be I know that the best wishes of his old Edgewater 
friends are with him. 



CHAPTEH VII 

TOURNAMENT EXPERIENCES 

Jackson Park gallery gets glimpse of budding 
amateur golfer — School and some of Its handi- 
caps — Evanston Academy player breaks into 
print — The first gold medal. 

It was in August, 1905, that the first City Champion- 
ship was to be played, over the public course at Jackson 
Park. The cup was put up by the Chicago Evening 
Post. Its sports editor at that time was E. G. Westlake, 
who afterwards, until his death, did a great deal for golf 
and became a good and encouraging friend of mine. 

Any amateur golfer and this, of course, included cad- 
dies under sixteen, was eligible. My heart beat rapidly 
when I read the announcement. Ordinarily entrants to 
all amateur events must be club members. At once I 
determined to enter, but I did not dare to tell any one 
except my mother of my intention, for fear that I might 
be laughed at. I was very sensitive to ridicule. Imme- 
diately I began to practice harder than ever. 

By that time I had managed to collect the following 
clubs : my well-known Morristown cleek, a lady 's Turpie 
lofter, a Carew putter, and a brassie with a broad head 
and a nice, large striking surface, given me by Mr. 
Hamill when Horton was professional. 

In preparation for the event I spent considerable time 
looking for balls, and as the day grew near I confided 

84 



Tournament Experiences 85 

my ambition to Tom O'NeiL Instead of ridiculing me 
he was very sympathetic and said : ' ' You can put your 
clubs in that old bag over in the corner. " That was just 
what I needed, for of course I had no golf bag. 

The fact that my brother and some of the older boys 
I knew were going to play was an additional reason why 
I wanted to enter. We had once played a caddie team 
match down on Jackson Park so the course was not 
wholly unfamiliar, but I wanted to play it again, and 
a few days before the tournament I got up at 3 o'clock 
in the morning and took the street car for the park. 
After reaching there I had to wait until 10 o'clock to 
start, and I decided to finish my practicing at Old 
Edge water. 

I worked hard with brassie, lofter, cleek and putter, 
but the two things on which I prided myself most — a 
tightly palmed grip, and my right elbow straight out at 
the end of the back stroke on the half shots — I now 
consider absolutely wrong. Eliot had seen Parsons War- 
ren doing this and he talked about it so much that I was 
convinced that it was the only right way. Now I know 
that this particular style that I had worked so hard to 
perfect was not the one best suited to me. 

My appearance gave the Jackson Park crowd consider- 
able amusement. I was very small and thin, and wore, 
not the knickerbockers of the golfer, but the short trous- 
ers of the small boy. The gallery was good-natured, 
but a bit uncomplimentary, and advised me to go back 
to kindergarten. I stuck to it, however, and did not 
mind the chaffing. I qualified with an 83 and was 
defeated in the second round by R. C. Knickerbocker. 

To me this was a great event, and it marked the begin- 



86 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ning of greater things. It was not only my first real 
tournament but it was the first of my playing in the city 
championships. 

I started in the Evanston Academy in September, 
1905, from which time I date one of the happiest periods 
of my life. I did fairly well at school — once being on 
the honor-roll — but I was usually mediocre or worse in 
mathematics. My time for that year I arranged with the 
utmost system in order to get in caddying and golf prac- 
tice. I knew then that if I remained an amateur I 
should have to stop caddjdng the following year, which 
I was preparing to do. The prospective loss of my 
caddie money threatened to be serious, but having saved 
something, I would be able to caddy that fall and a part 
of the next summer. 

By this time I had many friends at Edgewater, made 
during seven years of caddying. These had become 
enthusiastic over my game, and as they often played 
with me I passed through a period of delightful com- 
panionship. My parents, however, wanted me to have a 
better education, and so I began the school work at the 
academy with much enthusiasm, but I was careful to 
choose studies that would come at hours that would 
leave the afternoons free for golf. To do that I had my 
first lesson at 8 o'clock, and as I walked to school, and 
Evanston is four miles from Rogers Park, it meant early 
rising. By this means my studies were kept to the morn- 
ing hours except one which came twice a week in the 
afternoon. 

When I got up in the morning in the summer, I went 
directly to the club, playing and studying all the way 
over. When Tom 'Neil was there I swept out the shop, 



Tournament Experiences 87 

laid out the tools and got everything in readiness for 
the day's work. At other times I practiced on the course 
until it was time to play myself home to breakfast. 
After breakfast I changed my clothes and, unless the 
weather was bad, walked to Evanston, reaching there in 
time for my 8 o'clock class. 

In July, 1906, I was sixteen years old, and in that 
month I stopped caddying. At the time I was playing 
what might be called a good game for a boy — wrong 
method according to my present light — but getting 
pretty good results. 

My unwavering desire to become an athlete kept me 
from taking up smoking at the age when the average 
boy thinks that a very manly thing to do. There was 
no moral pose about my attitude. I knew that the boys 
on the football team were not allowed to smoke, and it 
seemed foolish therefore for a delicate boy with athletic 
ambitions to cultivate the habit. Boys of stronger 
physique might have thought that they could do both. 
I knew that I could not. This same reason may have 
had a great deal to do with the fact that I have never 
taken anything stronger to drink than water and an 
occasional cup of coffee. There were other reasons for 
this, however. 

To stop caddying in midsummer was an act that tested 
all my moral strength, and it also put to test the kindness 
of the Edgewater people. For practically eight years 
I had spent the greater part of my spare time — and it 
was remarkable how much time I could spare — at the 
club. 

One of the advantages of caddying was the right to be 
around the club; indeed, a caddie used the course more 



88 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

than a member's son. Yet here in the middle of the 
summer and my prized vacation I had dropped my 
caddying, and was, in every golf sense, homeless. My 
habits suffered a terrible wrench. There was literally 
no place where I had a right to go for a game of golf, 
except the municipal course at Jackson Park, and that 
was fifteen miles from m} r home. 

Luckily for me, Tom O'Neil was still at the Edge- 
water Club although his days there were numbered. I 
would slip over to see him, help him a bit with his books, 
and play a few holes now and then with some member 
who did not have a partner. Almost any other profes- 
sional would have chased me off, for I really had no 
right at the club at all and it required a good deal of 
" nerve " to go there. It was then that the members, 
the friends I had made while caddying, helped me 
through. I know that I felt forlorn. A few old clubs, 
some good shots, and an intense desire to become a real 
golfer were likely to go for naught without a course to 
play on. 

My clubs at that time were a collection, not a selection, 
and in consequence they were of varying weights and 
kinds. They were all gifts except the Carew putter, 
which I had bought. My Morristown cleek, as already 
mentioned, had been a Christmas present from my 
father. The mashie was in reality a lofter given me by 
Mrs. E. M. Lapham ; my midiron was not a midiron at 
all, but a mongrel loft, perhaps nearer to a jigger than 
anything else. My only wooden club was a broad-headed 
Horton brassie that I think Mr. Hamill had given me. 
The shaft had been cracked, but I wrapped some tight 
whipping around it and it worked fine. I loved it. 



Tournament Experiences 89 

The bag was a dilapidated affair, discarded by 
F. P. Schmitt, and through Tom 'Neil's kindness 
I had fallen heir to it before the Jackson Park tourney. 
It was marked with initials, I remember, but after I had 
done some crude work on it, I fancied that it did not 
look so bad. Until I began to play in tournaments I 
did not use it very much, for I rarely played with my 
whole set of clubs, reserving that for serious occasions, 
but I always carried one club in my hands, and this was 
usually my lofter. I, and this single club, hung around 
the clubhouse and grounds a good deal, I fear, and when- 
ever anyone came out who didn't have a game I was 
asked to play. Even when there was a regular game I 
was frequently invited to tag along. 

I belong to a great many golf clubs now, and I have 
played with the greatest golfers in the world, but never 
have I enjoyed anything so much as these casual games 
with the members of Old Edgewater, when there was not 
a place in the world where, except by their courtesy, I 
had a right to play. 

The second City Championship was to be played about 
the middle of August over the Jackson Park public links, 
and, of course, I was planning to enter. Every chance 
to play at Edgewater would help me to get ready for the 
event, and this time I hoped to win the big prize. I was 
destined to receive many a hard blow, but always I could 
come back cheerful and hopeful. 

It was a long, slow journey from Rogers Park to Jack- 
son Park in 1906. Today one can board an elevated 
train and go straight through. Then it required several 
changes, and much time was lost waiting for trains. A 
number of the Edgewater caddies went down with me 



90 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

to try their luck, and there was a large crowd assembled 
by the time we reached the course, although we had risen 
very early. I, after a practically sleepless night, found 
myself keyed to the highest pitch of excitement. I hoped 
that no one would notice that my knees were shaking so 
that I could hardly stand while at the first tee. 

There was a large entry, as always in open affairs, but 
when the afternoon papers came out they announced 
that " Charles Evans, unattached,'' had qualified with 
an 82. This was well towards the top, the holder of the 
title, C. W. Clingman, having an 80, and R. C. Knicker- 
bocker leading the field with a 73. I bought all the 
evening papers and turned my tired feet towards Rogers 
Park with a happy heart. It was pleasant news that I 
had to tell. 

I set forth on my journey next morning with mingled 
feelings. My qualifying round the day before had been 
very encouraging, but match play rounds with grown 
men in serious competition were practically unknown to 
me. Luck was with me, however, and that afternoon one 
of the papers said: " Charles Evans, the sixteen-year- 
old player from Evanston Academy, won easily in the 
morning from "W. E. Code, and followed up in the after- 
noon with an overwhelming win from C. A. Turney. 
Evans played through the rain in the afternoon and 
used only his midiron." 

Newspaper notices were encouraging, but, of course, I 
was due for a setback. Once more I had R. C. Knicker- 
bocker for an opponent, and again he defeated me, but 
this time I carried the match to 19 holes, losing by one 
stroke. The round was a very trying one although I had 
it practically my own way at first. It was hard for the 



Tournament Experiences 91 

older man to take so young a boy seriously, and from 
notes made at the time I can see that I resented his atti- 
tude and felt somewhat aggrieved. 

There is a very pleasant, outstanding feature in my 
memory of this event. I made the acquaintance of a 
wonderful fellow called " Shorty." Of course, at that 
time of my life, I never had a caddie ; indeed, for years 
afterwards I always carried my own clubs, for to my 
trained shoulder such burdens were easy and my clubs 
were few. I think that it was " Shorty," whose real 
name was Frank Scholl, who noticed me first at Jackson 
Park, and offered to carry my clubs. I couldn't permit 
him, it seemed, but he insisted, and his words of encour- 
agement were as a tower of strength to me. 

The medal which I received was a joy to my eye. I 
loved the red and bronze enameling, and, as it was in the 
form of a fob, I invested a bit of my scanty hoard in a 
dollar watch and wore it prominently, so that I and 
every one who saw me could see it. 

It was in this second City Championship that I 
learned for the first time what newspaper publicity 
really meant. Of course in the previous City Cham- 
pionship I had had a few notices, and in the Inter- 
scholastic in June I had received more, but the City 
Championship of that year, 1906, put me for the first 
time prominently before the golfing public. No one has 
learned better than I that on the list of those who helped 
me in my game, at a time that I most needed help, I 
must give an important place to the golf writers of Chi- 
cago. My good friend E. G. Westlake wrote : 

" The lad who learned his ideas of the game while caddying 
on the links of the Edgewater Golf Club yesterday furnished 



92 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

a surprise. All that Evans uses in his matches — this was 
true also of his qualifying round work — was a midiron, and 
a putter for the green when the grass was short enough to 
permit using that sort of club. Straight down the course did 
the ball fly every shot, and with almost as much distance as 
the elder players could get with their wooden clubs. Should 
Evans continue to improve his game it is difficult to see how 
he could escape first flight honors another year." 

It may be that this tournament after the lapse of so 
many years needs some analysis. There is no doubt that 
it had a great bearing upon my future golf life. Chance 
here played its part. Had I qualified far down the list 
and been beaten in the first round (and this could easily 
have happened) the discouragement might have kept 
me from entering another tournament that fall, for I 
had shown ability in other athletic sports. I do not 
believe, of course, that given my start and considering' 
my urge to golf, I would ever have given up completely, 
but my development could readily have been retarded 
and I might have become only a fairly good player. 

Jackson Park then was not the good course we know 
today. It was our first municipal links and new. Most 
of the players who played upon it knew little of the 
game and had less of consideration for the course. The 
greens were poor — no chance for good putting there — 
and the fair greens lacked much. Since the park and 
links were both public there could be but little control 
of crowds and they were everywhere, surging even across 
the line of play. It was no place for the man or boy 
w T ho expected deathless silence while he made a shot. 
A public course cannot give the player that privacy. 
Compared with private club standards there were many 
disadvantages in playing at Jackson Park at that time, 



Tournament Experiences 93 

but looking back, I consider it a part of my good fortune 
to have begun just there. 

Jackson Park really taught me to play before a gal- 
lery — an enthusiastic gallery. And that gallery grew 
and grew with the years, until finally I became very 
popular with it, and loved it dearly in return. 

I was finding the year 1906 very eventful. As I had 
entered Evanston Academy the previous fall I was then 
eligible for interscholastic events provided that I reached 
a certain average in my studies. In June, 1906, I had 
my first taste of competitive golf, outside of caddie 
events and my initial essay at the City Championship 
in August, 1905. I qualified third in the Interscholastic 
and was defeated in the semifinals by Gordon Copeland. 
My ambition was now growing rapidly, and in Septem- 
ber I went to the Western Amateur in St. Louis. 

Still my ambition was unsatisfied. It kept growing. 
What was then called on " open tournament, ' ' mean- 
ing open to any amateur golfer of Chicago, was held at 
the Calumet Golf Club September 20. It was a 
three-day event. I entered, of course, but what was not 
' of course/ ' I had the good luck to lead the field of 
qualifiers eleven strokes ahead of Ned Sawyer, who was 
second. In addition to Sawyer, the new Western cham- 
pion, Warren Wood, the runner-up, Albert Seckel, Paul 
Hunter, Runcie Martin, Charles McArthur, Ralph Hoag- 
land and other leading lights were there. 

Paul Hunter, almost exactly my own age, really made 
his first public appearance, away from his own course, 
Midlothian, at this Calumet event, and reached the 
finals, where he was defeated by D. E. Sawyer, while I 
had been defeated by the same player in the second 



94 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

round. My low qualifying medal was a beautiful one 
of heavy gold. One Chicago paper said : 

" The wonder of the tournament is Charles Evans, the 
Evanston High School (it should have been Academy) boy 
who set a new record in the qualifying round yesterday under 
the most adverse conditions. Evans first came to public 
notice at Jackson Park in the City Championship for the 
Evening Post cup, when he lasted until the semi finals. He 
plays a remarkable long game, and is good in the short work, 
but is still a bit crude. A little tournament experience will 
keep him among the topnotchers." 

In general the kindly notices I received from the 
golf writers of Chicago — E. G. Westlake, J. G. Davis, 
Joseph Ryan, and Walter Bermingham — kept my spark 
of courage glowing. They made me and those around 
me feel that I was justified in keeping up my golf even 
at a great sacrifice. 

My friends at Edgewater were now considering how I 
could be taken legally into the club. It was a matter 
for delicate adjustment. It is true that I had been a 
popular caddie, but all popular caddies are not received 
into golf clubs, and this holds particularly true when the 
boy happens to be only sixteen years old. I doubt if I 
had an actual enemy in the whole Edgewater Club, but, 
although I do not know it to be a fact, it is very reason- 
able to suppose that a number of the members may have 
considered it impolitic, to say the least, to take me into 
the club. At any rate I noticed that my friends were 
moving warily. 

Mr. Broeklebank advised, in order that the question 
of professionalism be settled for all time, that I get an 
affidavit from my father giving the date of my birth, and 
another affidavit from Tom O'Neil as to the date of my 



Tournament Experiences 95 

quitting caddying. It appeared that when I had won 
the low qualifying medal at Calumet, some question had 
arisen, and Mr. Brocklebank said that the proper affi- 
davits filed with my application for membership would 
make my standing a matter of safe record, forever pre- 
venting any mischief maker raising such a point in a 
tournament. 



CHAPTER VIII 

IN FAST COMPANY AT SIXTEEN 

In the Western Amateur for one round — Two 
medals in as many days — Swift exit from the 
1907 National — Junior titles come more regu- 
larly — Goodby to the Interscholastic. 

In 1906 the "Western Golf Association Championship 
event was played over the Glen Echo Country Club 
links, September 3-8. Naturally the grand objective of 
my vacation was to play in this event, but there were 
two great obstacles. One was that I was not a club mem- 
ber, and competitors in this event had to belong to 
accredited clubs ; the other that I lacked money for the 
trip. I had been able to enter the City Championship 
because it was open to any amateur living in the city 
and many unattached golfers competed. 

The expenses at St. Louis would not be great for one 
of simple habits and there was no use worrying about 
them until the far more difficult matter of club member- 
ship was settled. To be taken into the Edgewater Club, 
even if it had been agreeable to a sufficient number of 
members, was not possible under the rules. There was 
no provision for independent junior members. Only the 
young sons of members could be taken in. I was in a 
peculiar position. I had stopped playing just before 
my sixteenth birthday to avoid professionalism, and 

96 




John Barton Payne, Chicagoan and member of President Wil- 
son's cabinet, to whom Evans gives credit for much of his own 
skill on the links. 




Photo by Davison, Kansas City, Mo. 

Comrades of the links. Warren K. Wood and Chick Evans, 
snapped on the Excelsior Springs, Mo., course in 1915. 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 97 

therefore if I expected to play it would have to be as 
an amateur. 

I had stopped caddying about the middle of July, the 
City Championship ended on August 21, I think, and 
the Western was scheduled for the first week in Septem- 
ber. There was little time for action and most people 
would have thought there was no use trying to do any- 
thing more that year. But I was accustomed to over- 
coming difficulties, and, as always, a way out was found. 

I believe it was C. D. White who suggested the first 
step, and that was to join the Jackson Park Golf Club. 
This club, composed of golfers playing on the public 
links, was accredited to the Western Association and 
the dues were but two dollars. With our present 
enlightenment the course I took seems the most natural 
thing in the world, but at that time the Jackson Park 
links was the only one in the city, and few of us 
had ever heard of a club of public links golfers. 
Everything prospered, however, and I think that I got 
my membership certificate on the same day that I 
started for St. Louis. 

By that time financial difficulties had been smoothed 
out. The railroad fare from Chicago to St. Louis 
would not be considered of much moment to most people, 
and my expenses at the tournament would be compara- 
tively small. I had saved a little money, my family 
made a few sacrifices, and close Edgewater friends did 
the rest. Among those J. C. Brocklebank, C. M. Rogers 
and P. R. Wilmarth took a special and substantial 
interest in my journey. I carried several letters of 
introduction. I remember that one of them, asking 
the good offices of a St. Louisan in my behalf, also 



98 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

stated that " Mr. Evans is a very young man and 
unaccustomed to travel." 

The latter statement was appallingly true, for except 
when I journeyed from Indianapolis to make my home 
in Chicago, and a few lake trips, always accompanied 
by members of my family, I had never been a hundred 
miles from Chicago. I remember once going to the 
Chicago Golf Club at Wheaton to caddy for Mrs. 
Brower, and the second evening, much to her incon- 
venience, I threw up my job and went back to Rogers 
Park unable to bear the prospect of another night away 
from home. 

As I was so late in getting away there was no one 
whom I knew on the train. I did not mind that. I felt 
that I had set forth upon a stupendous enterprise and 
I was very proud to find myself traveling alone with a 
suitcase and golf bag. Not until I landed in St. Louis 
late in the afternoon did I fully realize that the world 
was a large place, and I a young boy. As for the city 
itself, it seemed to me that it was a million miles from 
Chicago. Looking about that crowded railway station, 
with not a human being in it that I knew, I could see 
that starting out to conquer the golf world was likely 
to prove a complicated and lonesome undertaking. 

I went at once to a good hotel because I was afraid 
to go to any other kind, and in consequence I paid more 
for my room than I felt that I could afford. I deposited 
my luggage and went out to a cheap restaurant for din- 
ner. My appetite, as always, was excellent, and I was 
much cheered by my meal, but when it was over, and 
I took my solitary way along the brightly lighted, 
unfamiliar streets, I began to doubt if in the whole 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 99 

world there was a single person that I knew. I had 
to go back to my room and my golf clubs to convince 
myself that there was such a game as golf. I doubted if 
I could play it, however, and I went to bed gloomily, 
but slept well. 

The next morning bright and early I took my suit- 
case and golf bag and went out to Normandie where the 
Glen Echo Club w T as situated. The sight of the course 
made me feel somewhat at home, and I found that I 
knew very slightly a good many of the golfers. The 
noted stars, Wood and Sawyer, were there, and circling 
about were many lesser lights. Wood and Sawyer were 
really not so many years older than I, but they seemed 
men, to be looked up to and envied. I hardly dared to 
believe that I would be permitted to play in the same 
tournament. Then, to my great joy, I ran across Runcie 
Martin. I did not know him very well at that time, 
but he was a friendly soul and had played in the City 
Championship at Jackson Park. He played a very 
good game, too. I confided my troubles to him, and he 
asked me to share his own inexpensive room near the 
club. To be exact, the room was part of a saloon, and 
we paid, I think, fifty cents a night for the privilege 
of sleeping there. It was near the club, and we didn't 
care where we slept. 

The next day I was made happy by qualifying, but I 
drew George Clingman in the first round. We had a 
good game, too. I do not recall what he scored, but the 
margin of my defeat was not large. 

I felt very unhappy at the time over my defeat, still 
I would have liked to stick around, for things were 
very interesting, but I could not afford it. So I gathered 



100 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

my few belongings at the golf club together and headed 
for Chicago. I had been in St. Louis three days. 

It was that winter, I believe, probably after Christ- 
mas, 1907, that I was made an actual Junior member 
of the Edgewater Golf Club. It had been a difficult 
thing to do and it meant more to me than words of mine 
can ever tell. 

My first golf event of the season of 1907 was the 
Interscholastic tournament at Onwentsia, June 17 and 
18. Just a year previous I had played in the event for 
the first time and had been defeated by Gordon Cope- 
land. It is impossible to describe the strain under which 
I played in this 1907 event, but I led in the qualifying 
round, had a large margin in my first match round with 
D. McMurray, a close one with Albert Seckel, and 
another good one with C. McArthur. My victory car- 
ried with it the title and a silver medal and I was 
exceedingly proud of both, but the real joy lay in 
the fact that I had come through. 

The next day, tired as I was from the Interscholastic 
and exhausted still more by the hot weather, I threw all 
my left-over energies into the one-day Edgewater open 
tournament and won. That, too, proved a great tri- 
umph, and the prize was that most tangible thing, a 
cup — for the first of my large collection. 

A week later I entered the Western Open Champion- 
ship at Hinsdale. My reason for taking part in this 
tournament at this stage of my golf development must 
have been merely a desire to let nothing escape me. 
Albert Seckel entered, too, as also did Charlie McArthur, 
another interscholastic golfer. A good many other local 
amateurs ventured among the professionals but Warren 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 101 

Wood, who played particularly well, was the only one 
to finish " in the money." 

The event on which my heart was set, however, was 
the National Amateur Championship at Cleveland. 
Albert Seckel and I discussed it with utmost serious- 
ness whenever we met. With me the real question was 
financial. Could I raise the money? Cleveland is not 
far from Chicago, as distances go in this country, but 
the expense of the journey seemed stupendous to me. 
Finally my father, seeing that my heart was set upon 
it, gave me the money for my railroad fare. Then C. S. 
Lincoln, a member of the Edgewater Club, had friends 
in Cleveland, Mr. and Mrs. Thayer, who at his request 
kindly invited me to stay with them during the 
tournament. 

C. F. Thompson of Chicago, who later became presi- 
dent of the Western Golf Association when I won my 
first Western, often mentions seeing me get off the train 
at Cleveland, staggering under the weight of golf bag 
and suitcase. I was taxing my already slight strength 
to save carfare. At that time I was very thin " built," 
as Joe Davis used to say, " something on the lines of a 
thin-shafted driver " and, perhaps, in consequence I 
was subject to a peculiar weakness that made it diffi- 
cult for me to play a hard match in the afternoon. My 
strength apparently deserted me about 3 or 4 o'clock, 
and I was accustomed to play the rest of the way on 
my " nerve." 

I had arrived late and had but little time for practice 
before the qualifying day. In the first half of that 
round Seckel and I did well, with an 83 each. For his 
second round Albert made an 84 but 165 was the last to 



102 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

qualify. My finish was grievous. I started out pretty 
well on my last round then I sent my ball into the car 
tracks, and after several futile efforts to dislodge it I 
lost my temper, and my score soared. Never afterwards 
have I felt such grief at the loss of a game as I suffered 
at that failure. 

I felt that I had not justified my coming, or my giving 
so much time to golf, and that I never could become a 
golfer. I had never in my wildest dreams hoped to win, 
but I had expected to make a fair showing. That my 
score should be the worst of all the Chicago players 
was heartbreaking. 

As I look back from the vantage point of ten years 
or more I realize that I have been very fortunate, for, 
with the single exception of that Euclid event. I have 
never failed to qualify in every tournament for which 
I entered, and my actual tournament play began at the 
age of fifteen. 

A week after the National Amateur at Cleveland I 
was playing in the Glen view open. I was very happy 
over that tournament. I did not win, of course, but I 
played unexpectedly good golf, and lasted until the semi- 
finals. I played in that round against Warren Wood 
and was all square at the turn, but was defeated one 
down in the afternoon. Wood had been a bright star 
in Cleveland, losing to Travers, the winner of the event, 
by one stroke. 

My connection with the Glenview tournament ceased 
on July 19, and July 25 found me playing in the West- 
ern Junior at Westward Ho. Paul Hunter and I tied 
for low score and) I lost in the play-off, one of the few 
times I have been defeated in a play-off for low score. 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 103 

Unexpectedly, too, Paul was defeated in the first 
round of match play. 

Hunter was one of a remarkable group of golfers 
from the Midlothian Golf Club. Others were Mason 
Phelps, Kenneth and Donald Edwards, and Robert 
Hunter, Paul's cousin. Paul was the youngest of these 
players and by many considered my greatest rival. I 
know that I feared him greatly for a long time, but 
for some reason or other, he has not lived up to his 
early promise. He had played well since a little boy, 
and had a particularly graceful style. His father, C. L. 
Hunter, played a strong game, too, and they were an 
interesting pair in the Pater Filius events, so popular 
at Midlothian. 

It was Albert Seckel who defeated Paul in the first 
round, and he almost won from me in the final. A long 
putt on the home green gave me a match that had been 
sensational throughout, and a title, the second of the 
year. 

I had been going at too strenuous a rate and collapsed 
soon after this event. In fact I had been ill after every 
event that season, but kept on in spite of bodily ailments. 
That persistence cost me the chance to play in the 
Western Amateur which was held that year at the 
Chicago Golf Club. 

I recovered sufficiently to enter the City Champion- 
ship at Jackson Park on August 18 or 19. It was the 
third City Championship and also my third attempt to 
win it. In the qualifying round Runcie Martin and 
R. W. Lazear tied for low score, and I, who was paired 
with Lazear, came second. In the second round I 
defeated Runcie Martin, which I had feared I could not 



104 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

do. I had an interesting match with the Reverend D. J. 
Magill in the semifinals, and defeated Marue Carroll 
in the final, the third time proving the needed charm. 

This was a great victory for me, the happy ending 
of a three years' struggle, and it all happened before a 
typical Jackson Park gallery. 

The summer of 1907 had been a season of mingled joy 
and disappointment. To give a rough summary : I won 
the Interscholastic Championship for the first time, the 
Edgewater Open event, the City Championship, the 
Western Junior event at Westward Ho, made a good 
showing in the Glenview tournament against older star 
players, and won fourteenth place in the Western Open 
at Hinsdale, Illinois. 

My first tournament of the golf season of 1908 was the 
" One-Day Open " at Edgewater on June 17. I won 
this event by defeating L. H. Reinking of Wheaton in 
the final by the narrow margin of 1 up. It was my 
second successive victory and second successive trial in 
this event at my own club. While the match had been 
close the final victory gave me the comforting feeling 
that my own game was developing a certain steadiness 
that promised well for my future. 

The Western Interscholastic was played over the 
Skokie Country Club course in June, and this, too, I. 
won for the second successive occasion and with more 
eclat than on the previous time. I began the event by 
making the lowest qualifying score, and won each of 
my matches by a pretty good margin, although my 
opponents were the best of our interscholastics — Law- 
rence Bragg, R. T. Lazear, Gordon Yule and Fraser 
Hale. 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 105 

While we were assembled for this tournament we 
thought it a good time to organize the long-discussed 
"Western Interscholastic Association. I was elected its 
president ; the vice president was Robert T. Lazear, Uni- 
versity High School, and the secretary and treasurer, 
Harry Kimbark of the Evanston High. We began to feel 
proud of ourselves and endeavored at once to arrange 
a schedule for interscholastic team golf matches. At 
the time we had great dreams of a national interscholastic 
golf championship. 

During the school year of 1907-1908 I had tried to 
interest a few of the Evanston Academy boys who played 
golf in this matter of a golf team championship to be 
competed for by players from the preparatory schools 
of Chicago, or indeed the whole West, for there was 
nothing small about my imagination. It was rather uphill 
work, however, for Evanston Academy was not deeply 
interested in athletics. 

On July 3, after winning the low-score medal, I was 
defeated in the semifinals of the Westward Ho Open 
by Robert Hunter of Midlothian. This event, together 
with the Junior tournament following in August, was 
very dear to our hearts, indeed it is not possible for me 
adequately to tell how indebted the rising young players 
of that time were to the Westward Ho Golf Club at Oak 
Park, Illinois. Of course I was disappointed to be put 
out of this event, but I entered the next competition 
with cheerfulness and hope restored. 

The next event of importance happened to be the 
Western Amateur at Rock Island, on July 13. This was 
a more serious matter to me than the Chicago events. 
The carfare to Rock Island seemed a small fortune, 



106 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

and where the money for board and lodging was to come 
from I did not know. Life at that period was just 
one prolonged strain of trying to make ends meet. I 
managed to get together the money for my railroad 
fare. "When I reached Eock Island I lodged in a barn 
and got my meals where I could. There is no doubt 
that with my weak digestion I was paying a big price 
for my golf, and I could not very well expect to win 
under such conditions. Still my first half of the quali- 
fying round was creditable. I made 159 for the two 
rounds, but was beaten in the first match by Donald 
Edwards. 

On August 1 I went to an invitation tournament at 
the Kent Country Club, Grand Rapids, where I was 
defeated in the first round by Mason Phelps. He almost 
always defeated me in those days. I won the consolation 
event in which my defeat in the first round deposited 
me. The next week found me playing in the Onwentsia 
Open, where, after qualifying third, I was defeated by 
Willie Howlandi, but won the La Salle Cup, put up 
for some special medal round. On August 15 I won an 
open junior championship at Glenview together with the 
qualifying medal for 150 for 36 holes. 

An important event was scheduled for August 19. It 
was at our beloved Westward Ho and it was called the 
International Junior Championship. Its international 
claim was based upon the presence of David Jolly, who 
had arrived in this country from St. Andrews a few 
days previous to the tournament. Seckel and I were 
much excited over the approaching competition. I do 
not think that a finer list of junior entries could have 
been found any place in America at that time, the field 



In Fast Company at Sixteen 107 

including Albert Seckel, Paul Hunter, Donald Edwards, 
Phil Stanton of Grand Rapids, Gordon Copeland, R. O. 
Ainslie, to mention only a few. 

It was a fortunate tournament for me from a golfing 
standpoint, but it was made especially memorable to me 
by a meeting with a young lad who afterwards became 
one of my best friends. It stands out in my memory 
because one of the unusual features of that period of 
my life was that while I had many acquaintances among 
the young boys of my own age my real understanding 
friendships were with grown men. 

My new acquaintance was Mason B. Starring, Junior, 
son of a well known Chicago business man and grandson 
of the noted divine Dr. David Swing. The Starring 
summer home was at Swinghurst, Lake Geneva, and 
there I afterwards spent many happy days. Mason and 
I were drawn together in the first round and before it 
was over I had been invited to become one of a house 
party for the Lake Geneva Annual Invitation Tourna- 
ment. Thereafter I went to the Starring home every 
season for several years for the Lake Geneva Tourna- 
ment, in fact until the Starring family moved to 
New York. 

I was pitted against David Jolly in the semifinals, 
and I confess that I had been very much afraid of him 
in spite of the fact that his preceding rounds had not 
been so good as we expecte-d. He came well-heralded 
from St. Andrews, but those velvety greens did not 
prepare him for ours, and his scoring was rather high, 
I was able to defeat him 3 and 2. He was a pleasant, 
modest youngster, one of a large family of golfers, 
mostly professionals, who came to this country. 



108 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

In the finals, I met my regular opponent of those days, 
Albert Seckel, who had defeated Donald Edwards by 
the narrow margin of one hole. This hard match 
evidently had worn him out and he did not play his 
accustomed game, and I defeated him by a large margin. 
Yet the previous year, in the same event, I had only won 
on the thirty-sixth green by a lucky twenty-foot putt. 

When I first went to the Evanston Academy I hardly 
dared mention that my game of games was golf. There 
must have been other students who played, but it had 
no standing among academic sports. In looking back 
I am surprised that I did not give up golf for the more 
popular sports beloved by pretty girls. 

The Interscholastic came after school closed for the 
year, and any enthusiasm aroused by it had a chance 
to die long before school re-opened. After my first 
Interscholastic Championship, won in 1907, however, I 
became a little "played up " in school, and then dared 
to sound the praises of my game. I had learned from 
my two appearances in interscholastic tourneys that a 
good many schoolboys were interested in it, and so on 
my third appearance in 1908 I had some ideas to add 
to those of the other players, and I practically ran the 
event. 

Before going further, however, it may be interesting 
to consider the interscholastic finances. There was an 
entry fee of fifty cents, and with this we were able to 
buy a silver medal for the winner. I often thought 
how fine it would have been had some kind golfer given 
us a cup. 

I knew that in 1908 something more was needed and 
so I went to see my good friend, C. S. Lincoln, an old 



In Past Company at Sixteen 109 

Edgewater member, and asked him if he would give a 
pennant for the winning team in a special event. He 
did so. 

There were about eleven schools entered, each with a 
team or two. Lawrence Bragg and I represented Evans- 
ton, and our scores were the lowest. Thus the pennant 
went to the academy to take its place alongside the 
trophies of other sports. We tried to get the trustees 
interested in providing expense money for our team 
matches, but little if any was forthcoming, for golf was 
a hard game to interest a school board in. 

The academy was in the habit of presenting emblems 
each year to members of winning teams, and I believe 
that I have two for golf. 

Unfortunately a severe illness in 1909 made it impos- 
sible for me to play in the Interscholastic Champion- 
ship for that was my last year in the " prep " school. 
The next fall I entered the Northwestern University 
and after that saw little of interscholastic golf and 
heard less about the Western Interscholastic Golf Asso- 
ciation of which I had been so proud. 



CHAPTER IX 

FIRST CHAMPIONSHIP HONORS 

A banquet without guests — Winning of the 
Western Amateur a close shave — " Chick " 
becomes " Mister " as " Shakey " looks in — Lead- 
ing the qualifiers softens defeat in the National. 

The 1909 Western Championship was held at the 
Homewood Country Club, Flossmoor, Illinois. I had 
played in the event just twice before, in 1906 at St. 
Louis, and 1908 at Rock Island, but had not made 
much of a showing on either occasion. So far that 
season had been disappointing. I had had a serious 
illness lasting several weeks and I had lost several 
tournaments unexpectedly. 

At that time the big event was preceded each year 
by a team match play for a cup presented by Marshall 
Field. Not only had Mr. Field donated, the club 
trophy, but he had paid all the expenses of the com- 
petition, and provided medals for the players of the 
winning team. Only golfers who had won a trophy of 
note were eligible for the team, and this was the last 
year of competition for the cup. 

Early that summer I had been asked by several 
members of the Exmoor Country Club whether I would 
like to join their club and anyone who knows me may 
be certain that I did. Accepting memberships in golf 
clubs is the most enjoyable thing that I do, but I 

110 



First Championship Honors 111 

assured them that first, last and all the time that my 
heart was at Edgewater. I was soon admitted and 
a little later I was asked to play on the Exmoor team 
for the Marshall Field cup — permanent possession of 
which was to be decided just prior to the Western. 

Only three clubs entered for the event, — the Mid- 
lothian, Exmoor and Glenview, I think. The Mid- 
lothian team was considered an almost certain winner. 
Previously in these pages I have told of the golfing 
prowess of this club, for it was made famous by a won- 
derful group of young players who were making the 
golf history of Chicago. Paul Hunter, Robert E. Hun- 
ter, Mason Phelps and Kenneth and Donald Edwards 
composed the Midlothian team. The Exmoor players 
were H. Chandler Egan, Walter Egan, Charles Evans, 
Jr., Alden Swift and W. B. Egan. 

The third team was out of the running before the 
first nine holes were played and a terrible shock was 
in store for the Midlothianites, who, it was rumored, 
had already ordered a big banquet to be spread at the 
club in honor of their victory. 

The cup play came on the Saturday preceding the 
Western. As it happened I was in the last four-ball 
group. The play was against bogey, and at the end of 
18 holes the Midlothians stood at a total of 3 up, 
Exmoor was 1 down, and Glenview was 17 down. At 
that time few people believed Midlothian to be in any 
clanger. I had played very well in the morning, I 
thought, being all even with bogey, and the rest of our 
team also did well. 

Our four-ball set dragged behind a little, and 
somebody came out to the twelfth hole and told us what 



112 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the Midlothian players had done, pointing out that 
Exmoor had a chance to win if I could finish up on 
bogey. The information was like a spur to a jaded 
horse and I surprised myself by coming back in 35, 
5 up on bogey, and the trophy went to Exmoor. 

It was the biggest thing that I had yet done in golf. 
I got a great deal of credit in addition to being selected 
to play on the team with H. Chandler Egan. I still 
have an honorary membership at Exmoor, and the 
beautiful cup is there to remind us of the famous battle 
between the Exmoors and Midlothians. 

The Monday following the Marshall Field Trophy 
competition the Amateur Championship of the Western 
Golf Association began at Flossmoor and under unusu- 
ally pleasant conditions for me. It was realized that 
if I expected to win any of the big events I must play 
them under more comfortable conditions and so it 
happened that for the first time I was able to have a 
room at the clubhouse for the event. How I did appre- 
ciate the luxury of rest and quiet afforded by that little 
room. It afforded me everything I needed to keep in 
shape. What a happiness it was to be able to eat a 
leisurely breakfast, and then take a few unhurried foot- 
steps to the first tee, instead of rising at daybreak for 
the long ride from Rogers Park to the city, then across 
the town and far out into the country. 

I was paired in the qualifying round with Harold 
Fisher of the Denver Country Club, and made 78 for 
the first half, five strokes behind the leader, Warren 
Wood. The next 18 holes handed me a 77 — a total of 
155 for fourth place. Warren Wood made another 73, 
winning the low medal with a wonderful 146. E. M. 




Photo by Pietzcker, St. Louis. 

Chick Evans, jnst after winning the 1915 Western Amateur at 
Cleveland. 




■ ~ -' T 



z "= ~ 



- - z *= 












3z g 



< ^. r 



First Championship Honors 113 

Byers eame second with 152, Ned Sawyer third with 
154. R. A. Gardner had 156 for fifth place. 

It so happened that while we were playing the offi- 
cials of the W. G. A. were deciding upon a method of 
numerical pairing for the first match play round 
instead of trusting to the old luck of the draw. The 
new rule had been formulated rather early and the 
afternoon papers had been furnished with tKe news 
before many of the players had come in. I finished my 
round rather late and being tired went immediately to 
my room. I was told afterwards, however, that Ralph 
Hoagland, who was noted for his ability to pick a 
winner, went up to the bulletin board on which the 
pairings had been placed, and after studying them 
carefully said: "It looks like little Chick Evans 
to me." 

It is only too true that the new rule had landed me 
in a pretty good place, but some of the leading players 
were bitterly dissatisfied and many protests were 
lodged, but the new rule, having been made public 
before many of the scores had come in, had to stand. 

My first, match round was with Charles Baker — the 
best handball player in America — and although I was 
very nervous I managed to nose out a 3 and 2 victory. 
My next opponent was George Lindsay, and I beat him 
3 and 2. I was out in 36, which was pretty good in 
those days. The surprise of this round was the defeat 
of Warren. Wood by Robert Gardner. 

During the painful days of convalescing from a 
broken leg I. had read the football yearbooks and dis- 
covered a famous player in Lee Maxwell, quarterback 
on the University of Chicago team. I had conceived 



114 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

a great admiration for him, and when my third oppo- 
nent turned out to be the gridiron star, I was more 
nervous than ever but still I won 3 and 2. 

In the upper half my old rival, Albert Seckel, was 
putting up some splendid golf. Good as he was no one 
expected him to beat Sawyer, but he did this most 
convincingly. Then Kenneth Edwards beat Robert 
Gardner with a magnificent 70, thereby making himself 
a big favorite for the title. We had arrived at the 
semifinals with Seckel against Kenneth Edwards and I 
against Paul Hunter. Strange to say Seckel and I 
were always being drawn against each other, but Paul 
and I had never met in match play. I felt that it was 
no time for relaxed vigilance, and I went right after 
him and won by a large margin. Success at that time 
gave me the needed morale. 

In the meantime Seckel had disposed of Kenneth 
Edwards, another fine Midlothian player, by 5 and 4, 
and once more he and I faced each other in a decisive 
match, the youngest players who had ever met in a 
Western Amateur final. In all our previous meetings 
I had been the victor and the consciousness of that fact 
gave me a distinct advantage. Things were breaking 
nicely for me, and although I was nervous and had 
passed a sleepless night, I stood at the first tee on that 
summer's morning in my best fighting spirit. 

The morning round justified my confidence, but even 
in this round Seckel showed his remarkable rallying 
power. Before we reached the thirteenth hole I was 7 
up and Seckel had not won a hole. Then he took the 
fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth, halved the eight- 
eenth and I went to luncheon 4 up. 



First Championship Honors 115 

After a varying fortune in the afternoon I was still 
4 up at the eleventh hole. I holed my putt for a half, 
and as Seckel 's ball was practically dead I knocked his 
away, and was immediately informed by Referee Bende- 
low that I had lost the hole by conceding that putt. 
It was a new W. G. A. rule, and had been broken in 
almost every round, but I suppose that our match was 
the only one officially followed, and, as usual, I 
was " it." 

I do not think that I have ever known any little hap- 
pening to occasion so much discussion. The fact that 
I had won my half before I knocked the ball away was 
dwelt upon, but the hole was lost on that technicality, 
and for a time I seemed to lose my grip on the game. 
On the fifteenth I lost a hole as well as on the sixteenth, 
but we halved the next two, and I won by the narrow 
margin of 1 up. 

It had been a big occasion for two young boys, for we 
were the youngest players who had ever gone that far 
in the Western. Strange to say the Western has, with 
this exception, never been won by a boy under 20, while 
the National has been rather often. 

Seckel and I were very proud of our big gallery. 
Seckel's mother was there, as were also my own father, 
mother and sister. It was the first time that either of 
my parents had ever seen me play. That night we were 
all the guests at dinner of J. H. Wood, Warren's 
father, and when I saw my own name woven in green 
leaves, extending in huge letters across the dining room, 
I began to feel the real importance of my victory. 

Not long afterwards a notice was mailed to every 
member of the Edgewater Golf Club saying that " Mr. 



116 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Charles Evans, Jr.," a club member, had had the honor 
of winning the Western Golf Championship, and the 
club was giving a dinner and dance, August 7, in honor 
of the occasion. Here was the kid, " Chick/' being 
called" Mister." 

It was a great occasion but right in the midst of it I 
turned toward the window and saw " Shakey " looking 
in. For an instant I forgot my present self and remem- 
bered the many times when I, as a caddie, had gazed 
into the well-lighted room and watched the members 
laughing, dining and dancing with their wives and 
sweethearts. 

In August, 1909, Trigg Waller, secretary of the West- 
ern Golf Association, wrote me that I had been selected 
for one of the four players to represent that association 
in the Olympic Cup event, September 4, at the Chicago 
Golf Club. 

I believe that it was in 1904 that a team of Chicago 
golfers went to St. Louis and won the famous Olympic 
Cup of the Western Golf Association. The Association 
then put it in play, open to teams of four from any 
golf association in the world. It was usually contested 
for at 36-hole medal play on the Saturday before the 
Western Championship, or the National, if it happened 
to be in the West. The first time that it had been 
played before a national tourney was at the Euclid 
Club, Cleveland, in 1907. The Metropolitan Golf Asso- 
ciation team, consisting of Walter J. Travis, Jerome D. 
Travers, Fred Herreshoff and Archie Reid, won by a 
large margin. 

Even at this early date I had begun to envy the men 
chosen to play for this famous cup. I held it one of the 



First Championship Honors 117 

biggest honors that could come to a Western golfer, 
and I had vainly hoped that my performances in golf 
up to 1908 would cause me to be selected to play on 
the Western Golf Association team at the premier 
Western event at Rock Island that year. Naturally, 
therefore, when I was asked to play in the event I felt 
deeply honored. The players I had been asked to 
assist were Chandler Egan, Warren K. Wood and Ken- 
neth Edwards. We won rather easily. 

I had gone to work at once after winning the West- 
ern Championship in order to prepare myself for the 
National. Each day I had gone to the Edgewater 
course and practiced in a systematic way. I had a club 
in my hand from morning till night and I hit the ball 
around and waited for the days to pass until I could 
make my second appearance in the National tourney. 

When the great day arrived I found myself much 
more nervous than on any other occasion of my life, 
for in addition to the importance of the event to me, I 
was drawn to play in the qualifying round with Walter 
J. Travis, at that time the most notable figure on the 
American links. 

I can remember as clearly as if it were yesterday how 
I played the first hole. The gallery was behind us and, 
as my knees hit together, my drive was missed miser- 
ably. I then topped my second shot, and my third 
landed just short of the bunkers in front of the green. 
I was having a tough time, indeed. I was anxious. It 
meant much to win. I shot again, and my very poorly 
hit fourth landed luckily and rolled into the hole. 
Even the silent Mr. Travis had to exclaim. This piece 
of luck made it easy for me to gain my equilibrium and 



118 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

when the cards were counted up I saw the name Evans 
at the top of the list with a 74 — 40 out and 34 in. 

I slept uneasily that night, but my 77 the next day 
gave me a total of 151 — tying for low score with Robert 
Gardner of Chicago and Tom Sherman of Utica, New 
York. This was my first of a series of successes in the 
medal-play round of our National Amateur Golf Cham- 
pionships. The honor of the best 18-hole score, how- 
ever, went to Ned Sawyer, who made a 72. 

My first match round was against a Philadelphian, 
W. G. Pfeil ; my second, Addison Stillwell of Chicago, 
and the third my old friend Albert Seckel, whom I 
defeated 5 and 3, landing into the semifinals. Higher 
up in our half were notable names, any of whom would 
have been terrifying to me. Ned Sawyer was in great 
form and defeated Robert Hunter, and Chandler Egan 
— what magic in that name ! — defeated Warren Wood, 
and then he and Sawyer had another of their memorable 
battles. It was not decided until the thirty-eighth hole. 
The decision brought me face to face in the semifinal 
round of the National with the great Egan, who had 
reigned almost supreme in Western golf during all the 
days of my most ardent hero worship. 

It was hot playing the following day, although there 
was a light breeze. As I took stock at the end of the 
first nine holes I discovered that Egan had gone out in 
34 and I was 4 down. A little later I lost the eleventh 
and stood 5 down, but I managed to win two of the 
remaining holes and finished the morning only 3 down, 
Egan having made a 73 and I a 77. 

The afternoon showed me that it pays to stick in 
golf, and it is a lesson I have seen demonstrated many 



First Championship Honors 119 

a time since. Egan won only one hole of the first nine 
and I won four, so that we were all even and 9 to play. 
Then he made a 3 on the tenth, eleventh and 
twelfth, making me once more 3 down. I caught him 
at the sixteenth, and holed a very difficult partial 
stymie on the seventeenth for a half. "We were all 
square and one to go when I topped my tee shot, and 
my chances to play in the final were soon ended. Not 
long after I was helping to revive Chandler Egan in a 
locker room of the clubhouse, where he had fainted. 

The next day Robert A. Gardner defeated Egan, and 
won the title by some splendid golf, 4 up and 3 to play. 
Gardner had not had much experience in tournament 
play until this time, but he had played fine golf 
throughout this event and had defeated both Travis and 
Phelps to reach the final. 

The day after the tourney proper, Robert Gardner, 
Tom Sherman and I played off the tie for the low score 
medal, and then occurred one of those sensational hap- 
penings that have punctuated my golfing career. At the 
end of the first nine holes Gardner had a 36, I a 42 and 
Sherman a 44. The latter had been very unfortunate 
and put three balls in succession over the fence. He 
and I didn't think that we had much of a chance, but 
we just went along, when lo and behold, beginning 
with the eleventh I began to pick up almost a stroke a 
hole back from the then national champion. I have 
played the seventeenth and eighteenth at the Chicago 
Golf Club many, many times, but I believe that the only 
time in my life that I ever made them in 3 each was on 
the occasion of this play-off. I was one stroke behind 
Gardner and two holes to play, and although he made 



120 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

those holes in par, I won the medal from him by a 
stroke. 

I had planned to apply myself most diligently to my 
studies, having entered Northwestern University, but in 
November I went down to Nashville to take part in an 
invitation tournament. At that time it seemed that I 
should not have neglected my school work, but being 
urged I did so, and as a recompense I made some of the 
best friends of my life and played some of my best 
golf. It was my first introduction to Nashville golf and 
golfers, and I have had many reasons since then to 
appreciate my good luck in meeting them. 

About fifty southern golfers took part in the tourna- 
ment. Malcolm McConnell and I, both of Edgewater, 
were guests of Horace F. Smith, to whom more than 
any other single man, the South owes its golf. Among 
his other guests were Lowry Arnold, Thomas Paine and 
George Adair, an Atlanta trio now well known to golfers 
all over the country, and whom I a little later on had 
reason to remember most affectionately. Among the 
Nashville golfers were Mr. Pollard, Clarence Angier, 
Ned Daly, D. Weaver, Tom Scoggins, F. O. Watts, Tom 
Webb and John A. Bell. Grantland Rice, the sports 
writer, whom I met then for the first time, competed in 
the tournament and won a third flight cup. 

The tournament was played over the old course, since 
abandoned, but which was then in fine condition. I was 
extraordinarily successful, winning a gold medal for low 
score, the first flight cup, and the driving contest. The 
singular thing and the thing that showed me that it 
wasn 't all luck was that each time that I won out on the 
course I reduced my previous score, beginning with a 75, 



First Championship Honors 121 

next a 73, followed by a 72, then a 71, and ending with 
a 70. 

The 1910 Western was played over the Minikahda 
course at Minneapolis. It was immediately preceded by 
the Olympic team event. Again I was made happy by 
being selected to play on the Chicago team along with 
Robert Gardner, D. E. Sawyer and Albert Seckel. The 
event took place on July 23, and our team had very little 
difficulty in winning; in fact we made the lowest score 
ever made in the contest. 

I found the event most interesting. It began with the 
brilliant qualifying round of Harry Legg which left all 
of us strokes behind. I had the most peculiar sort of 
luck. From the first round to the final I was matched 
against the great group of Midlothian golfers, meeting 
Donald Edwards in the first round, Kenneth Edwards 
in the second, Paul Hunter in the third, Eobert Hunter 
in the fourth, and Mason Phelps in the fifth and last. 

Robert Hunter played some remarkable golf in this 
tournament, reaching the high-water mark with his 68 
against Seckel. In his round with me he had me 1 down 
and 1 to plsty, and I pitched out of the road for a 3 to 
square the match. Going to the first extra hole he was 
nicely on the green in 2. I sliced my tee shot to a 
bunker, got out into another bunker, missed my next, 
and was about to pick up when Warren Wood, who was 
caddying for me, said: " Play it out." I was on in 4, 
down in 6, and Bob took four putts. That taught me to 
stick. I beat him on the thirty-ninth after a nerve-rack- 
ing ordeal. The next day I lost my title to Mason 
Phelps, 2 and 1. 



CHAPTER X 

MY FIRST EASTERN TOURNAMENT 

Butterfly plays important role in decisive match 
— Fownes beats Wood for title — Sensational golf 
lands the championship in the Western Open — 
Simpson victim in the final. 

My success in the 1909 Amateur had made me look 
forward eagerly to the next National Championship, 
scheduled for Brookline. When the meeting place was 
announced my first thought was whether I would be 
able to afford the trip. Boston seemed a far place. I 
had been to St. Louis, Rock Island and Minneapolis, but 
I had never been farther East than Grand Rapids. 

Because of the expense I was obliged to time my 
arrival to one day before the championship began. Sun- 
day golf was unpopular in New England at that time, 
and my consternation can be imagined when I was 
informed that I could not have a caddie, and that it 
would really be better not to offend public sentiment 
and play on the only day that I had to practice. I had 
to play, of course, and be my own caddie as well. The 
golf course itself not only impressed me ; it stunned me. 
I had never even dreamed of one like it. There were a 
great many traps. The bunkers had railroad ties for 
their facings, making them look particularly formidable, 
but the grass was wonderful. Three holes, up in one 
corner of the grounds, were beautiful affairs, cut through 

122 



My First Eastern Tournament 123 

the woods, at a cost, I was told, of $35,000. The putting 
greens simply shocked me. They rolled in every sort of 
a way and I just could not control the ball. 

The first qualifying round saw a tremendous entry 
beginning at 7 :30 in the morning and lasting until night- 
fall. Those overtaken by darkness could finish the next 
morning; rather unfortunate for them, to be sure, for 
to the successful ones it would mean a match round fol- 
lowing fast upon a medal. In the first 18-hole qualifying 
round there were a number of 83 's and strangely enough 
the newspaper men put the names of F. Ouimet and 

C. Evans together. Here were two former caddies, one 
from a small course in the West and the other from the 
very course on which the championship was being 
played. 

Among the sixty-four players who qualified in the first 
round Chandler Egan was missing, the first time that 
he had ever failed to qualify in a major event and the 
last time that he played in one in the East. When the 
names of the second qualifying round were checked off it 
was found that six Chicagoans had made good. They 
were Warren K. Wood, Robert Hunter, Paul Hunter, 

D. E. Sawyer, Albert Seckel, Intercollegiate champion, 
and myself. The West was shocked to learn that the 
National champion had failed to qualify. He was a vic- 
tim to the crush, having been caught in the darkness on 
the second qualifying round. 

Almost unnoticed, near Gardner's name, was that of 
P. Ouimet who was also outside the circle. Fred Herres- 
hoff was in great form, and won the low qualifying 
medal with the score of 152 — 74 in the afternoon. 

The draw was peculiar, its chief feature being Chi- 



124 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

<3agoans against Chicagoans. I beat Robert Hunter in 
the first round, ran up against my old friend Ned Saw- 
yer, who had just defeated Albert Seckel, in the second. 
Ned and I had another stiff match and my 73 in the 
afternoon brought me a 2 and 1 victory. In the third 
round I met the medalist, Herreshoff, and defeated him 
llupandlOto play, producing a shock from which the 
eastern players did not recover for a long time. To do 
it I had 74 in the morning, and was out in 36 in the 
afternoon. 

My old pal Warren Wood was doing some fine work 
in the other half of the draw and had beaten three 
Massachusetts golfers of note. It was in this round that 
Harold Weber of Toledo finished the thirty-sixth hole 
all square with W. R. Tuckerman of Washington, D. C. 
I asked him to let me carry his clubs on the extra hole. 
The first thing that he did was to send me to his room for 
some pills. These apparently did him no good, for he 
took three putts on the extra hole and lost, much to my 
sorrow. 

My second appearance in the semifinals of the 
National brought me against W. C. Fownes, Jr., of Pitts- 
burgh. I have not space here to tell of the popularity 
of that player and his fine game. His caddie was George 
Ormiston, a Pittsburgh amateur but a native of Scot- 
land. Robert Hunter, a fellow Chicagoan, performed 
the same kind office for me. 

I was conscious that I was affording the gallery a 
great deal of amusement, for all week I had been putting 
with a midiron, trying by means of a backspin to get 
some sort of a hold on those terribly fast greens. Then, 
too, I had not taken off the little grey sweater, later 



My First Eastern Tournament 125 

prized mascot of the Western Open at Beverly, and 
clung to it until it was almost in shreds. "Whatever the 
efficacy of the garment, I generally played in greater 
luck up to the green than Fownes, but I could not get 
down as many twos as he, finding it impossible to master 
the tricky surfaces of those slippery greens. 

Notwithstanding my putting troubles the time came 
when I found myself 2 up and 3 to go. Going to the 
sixteenth I pitched onto the green, and Fownes was short 
in the bunker in front, and barely got out to the edge 
of the green. The game seemed clinched for me, and 
the spectators were so sure of it that many of them 
started for the clubhouse. Bill started to putt rather 
quickly* Just then a butterfly attempted to alight on 
his ball asid he tried to drive it away. The incident 
made him pause long enough to steady his putt a little, 
and he holed out in 3, while I took 3 putts. He won the 
next hole with a 175-yard second almost dead to the 
hole. As my ball lay in a position where it was impos- 
sible, with my western knowledge of greenplaying, to 
lay dead, 1 took three more putts on the eighteenth and 
lost the match. 

Fownes beat Warren Wood the next day and won the 
title. I don't know how Warren regarded his defeat, 
but with the passing of the years I have not regretted 
that I lost my match that day. It was to the most popu- 
lar golfer in the country, one who plays a fine game, 
and who has always been one of the firmest upholders 
of national golf. I'd not played a poor game, but he'd 
played better. Had I won in both the semifinal and 
the final, it is probable that I should only have kept in 
the game to a limited extent; its expense meant con- 



126 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

tinued privation, and with ambition realized I might not 
have thought it worth while to make the sacrifices. 

Immediately after my defeat I accepted an invitation 
to play in the Annual Open Handicap of the Vesper 
Country Club, Tyng's Island, Lowell, Massachusetts. I 
won the chief trophy, a beautiful crystal vase, which I 
gave to my mother. That night I went out canoeing and 
on the quiet, shadowy waters of the Merrimac, with a 
brilliant moon overhead, I forgot for a little space the 
last three holes at Brookline the day before. 

The greatest success of my early golfing career came 
during the first week of September, 1910. Only once 
before had I dared to enter the Western Open Cham- 
pionship, and the reason for that restraint was that my 
funds were always low, and I felt that I had not a chance 
to win. This year, however, the event was at the Beverly 
Country Club, and George O'Neil, brother of my good 
friend Tom, urged me to enter. I might as well add 
that I never needed much urging. The list included the 
best professionals of the country. I was one of the five 
amateurs who dared to try our fortunes in such fast 
company. 

The Western Golf Association powers that year haa" 
decreed that the tourney should be played on an entirely 
different basis than formerly. It is hardly necessary to 
say that open events are almost invariably medal com- 
petitions, but this year it had been decided to hold a 
qualifying round and to determine the event by match 
play. 

There was a foursome preliminary to the event and in 
that my partner was Harry Turpie. I should have liked 
to win with him for I remembered the years of practice 



My First Eastern Tournament 127 

and play at Edgewater, but Albert Seckel and Bob 
Simpson finished with a 72, one stroke ahead of Harry 
and me. 

In the qualifying round I was paired with Willie 
Middleton of Rock Island. I remember that I slept well 
the previous night, something that I had never done 
prior to an important competition. I was free from 
anxiety, being perfectly sure that I had not a chance 
in the world. On my way home the night after that 
round was played I had the strangest sensation trying 
to realize that I, a diminutive amateur, so thin, as Joe 
Davis said, that " he could slip between the raindrops 
and not get wet," had made a 71, the lowest qualifying 
score of the day. The previous record of the course had 
been 72. Jock Hutchinson was two strokes behind me, 
Bob Simpson was not far away, and the two amateurs, 
Seckel and Sawyer, were in the last place at 77. 

Jim Barnes, who had come all the way from Spokane, 
failed to qualify, and Lawrence Auehterlonie and Otto 
Hackbarth also fell by the wayside. Just outside the 
charmed circle was Harry Turpie, whose game I had 
first studied and upon which I had tried to model my 
own. Somehow I was vaguely troubled by the fact that 
I had qualified at the top of the list and Harry with his 
fine game had fallen outside. 

The Glenview Club, one of the largest and best in 
the United States, had been looking for a professional. 
They could not be suited here and so continued their 
search abroad. Up in Aberdeen, Scotland, they found 
a leading Scottish amateur who consented to take the 
place. This was Jimmie Donaldson, and he had a splen- 
did style and a big reputation. It was he that I was 



128 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

drawn against in my first round. Believe me, I was 
frightened. I began nervously and was 2 down at the 
seventh hole. Then I holed an approach on the eighth 
for a 3, and chipped in again for a 2 on the tenth. 
Then we alternated in winning strokes, and finished the 
eighteen all even. 

I shall never forget the extra holes with this player. 
I scrambled a half on the nineteenth, and on the twen- 
tieth Donaldson was only a few feet from the cup. I 
must have been twenty feet away when I holed my putt 
for a 2, and he missed his. 

Seckel and Sawyer also won their matches. Sawyer 
was drawn against Jock Hutchinson, and they had a 
great match. I believe that if you talked with Sawyer 
he would tell you that it was one of the greatest matches 
of the many he has played. He was 4 down and 5 to 
play, but won. 

Sawyer met me in the semifinals and there was 
another tight match, but my 71 against his 75 gave me 
a chance to play George Simpson in the final. From the 
first day of the event I had been playing like one pos- 
sessed and by the time the semifinals were reached the 
gallery had become very large. It was an unforgettable 
second of September. My caddie, I felt, contributed 
much to my success. He lived in Rogers Park and 
caddied at Edgewater. He was a fine, loyal lad who 
had been carrying for me in all the tournaments around 
Chicago. Behind him in the gallery were scores of 
Beverly caddies who had been permitted to follow the 
players. At the end of each successful match the shout 
would reach me: " They all look alike to Chick! ' 

When I reached the final there was much excitement 




" Shorty," caddie and mascot, who helped Evans win the 
Double Crown " in 1016. 




E. G. Grace, president of the Bethlehem Steel Corporation, the 
best business man golfer whom Evans has ever met. Photo taken 
on Mr. Grace's private links. 



My First Eastern Tournament 129 

in the gallery, composed of many professionals, for it 
was the first time in the United States that an amateur 
had gone so far in an open championship. 

In the final my medal play in the morning round was 
not particularly good — a 79 to 82 — but I went to 
luncheon two holes ahead. In the afternoon my little 
grey sweater and I did not miss anything. I went out 
in 35 and started in with 3, 5, 2, and 3, capturing by 6 
up and 5 to play the first and only Western Open 
Championship ever won by an amateur. Had I made 
the remaining holes in ordinary figures I should have 
been around in 67, an extraordinary performance in 
those days. 

I shall always remember how pleasantly George Simp- 
son took his defeat. The thirteenth tee at Beverly is on 
a hill, and when we reached it I was dormy 6. We 
played our shots and George grinned cheerfully, grabbed 
my hand as we raced down that hill like a couple of 
kids. He knew that defeat lay but a hole or so away, 
but that could not disturb so fine a sportsman, and so 
good a loser. 

Simpson had been amateur champion of Scotland, 
winning the title at Carnoustie in 1907. Later he came 
to this country and was employed at La Grange. He 
was a very good player, but gave up competitive golf, 
with the exception of Red Cross matches and other 
games among friends, and devoted himself to teaching 
and to the practical duties of his profession, in which 
he was most successful. He was professional at the Oak 
Park Country Club at the time of his death. 

I was delighted with my victory, and I asked the 
directors of the association to give the money prize to 



130 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Simpson, but they said that they could not do that, and 
so I now wear a watch, duly inscribed and bought with 
that prize money. It is the only golf prize that I wear 
since the old days of the much-in-evidence and much- 
admired Jackson Park fob. 



CHAPTER XI 

CAMPUS TO CATTLE BOAT 

Borrowed pony cuts short an educational career 
— Letter from President Taft — On the briny- 
deep as assistant foreman — A wooden divot and 
whale — On English Greens — Three weeks at 
Piersland. 

My second year at the Northwestern University began 
auspiciously enough, but soon interest in my studies was 
flagging. After the Christmas holidays, in the very 
first week of 1911, I found myself in a slump. I stuck 
along, however, until the end of the semester when 
examinations came, and then something happened which 
had a great bearing upon my after life. Unpleasant as 
it was I cannot truthfully say now that I regret it, for it 
brought to pass a very happy experience. 

In the examinations Wallie Bell and I were sitting 
side by side. There were two girls in front of us. None 
of us four was a particularly diligent student, but each 
of us was bright enough in his or her way, and I believe 
that all could have pulled through. Across the aisle 
was a very fine student using a ' ' pony. ' ' In parenthesis 
I would suggest that if schools really want to stop 
cribbing they should watch the brilliant students, 
for the ambition that leads them to work hard can lead 
them just as readily to the " sure thing." 

As we were having troubles of our own and saw an 

131 



132 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

easy way out we motioned for the " pony," and the 
bright student was generous. We of course were seen 
using it, being but slightly versed in the art of con- 
cealment, and asked to report to the dean's office. It 
was not expected that any of us could tell where the 
"'pony" came from, and so Dean Holgate suspended the 
four of us. We walked down the campus for the last 
time, half -laughing and half -crying. Wallie and I each 
happened to have a dime and we treated the girls to a 
soda. "We pretended that we did not mind, but we 
parted rather sadly. 

I knew pretty well what I wanted to do. I was sorry 
of course because I knew that it would be a hard blow 
to my parents, but for years I had dreamed of playing 
in a British golf championship, and only a short time 
before John Grassell and 0. J. Frances of a stock yards 
packing firm had said that they could get me a passage 
on a cattle boat. Suspension coming at this time seemed 
the hand of fate. Accordingly I wrote to George Adair, 
Thomas B. Paine and Lowry Arnold of Atlanta, and 
asked permission to prepare myself on the Druid Hills 
course near that city, as the British event comes too 
early in the spring to allow much practice on a Chicago 
course. A favorable answer having been received, I 
borrowed the money to get to Atlanta. I was hand- 
somely taken care of while there. 

On the journey down I caught my finger in the Pull- 
man car door. It was very discouraging. I suffered 
terribly, but the injury healed without permanent effect 
and I began practice. Once at the club I never went 
into town but worked regularly and systematically 
throughout the day. When I was too tired to play I 



Campus to Cattle Boat 133 

used to go to the caddie yard and entertain myself lis- 
tening to the little darky caddies. 

The three greens that I selected for the practice of 
my mashie shots were not more than 100 feet from Miss 
Alexa Stirling's home. Alexa was a great favorite. She 
could swim better and run faster than anybody in that 
section, and she could also swing a golf club amazingly 
well, although she did not then seem very deeply inter- 
ested in the game. 

The professional at that time was Stewart Maiden, 
who trained so well the group of young Atlanta play- 
ers. He also strove to make things pleasant for me. 

While in Atlanta I received an invitation from Mr. 
Tufts to play at Pinehurst in the North and South 
Championship. There I played on sand greens for the 
first time and it took me a little while to get going but 
I won the event by beating Walter J. Travis in the final. 

An interesting feature of my trip was an invitation 
from Lincoln Beaehy, who was testing an aeroplane in 
a field near by, to go up with him. This I did right after 
my match with Mr. Travis, who remarked that it was 
the first time that I had been up in the air that day. 
It is sad for me to record that Beaehy lost his life at 
the Panama Exposition about the time that I went 
there for the golf championship. 

I went back to Atlanta to resume my practice and 
found that Mr. Paine had arranged a wonderful pro- 
gram for me. Major Archibald Butt, military aid to 
President Taft, was from Atlanta, and a great friend 
of Mr. Paine. Through him arrangements had been 
made for me to have a game of golf with the president 
when I went to Washington on my way to Boston. I 



134 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

soon learned, however, that the time set for the sailing 
of my boat would not permit me to play with the presi- 
dent, but I resolved to go to the White House and 
explain my predicament in person. 

I think that it was Allan Lard who conducted me 
to the presidential mansion. The president, amiability 
itself, greeted me in the most cordial manner, called me 
" Chick " and wished me good luck. He also sent me 
a letter, through the courtesy of Major Butt, which I 
shall always treasure. I became of age the following 
year, and my first vote for president was cast for that 
kindly occupant of the White House. 

It required more courage than I had realized to take 
my first voyage on a cattle boat. My only experience 
with water-craft was with lake steamers, and my only 
experience with cattle had been obtained from one short 
Christmas holiday on my cousins' stock farm. It is a 
family tradition that I showed a fondness for calling 
the after deck of a steamer " the back porch," and 
my relatives' remarks concerning my skill as a cow- 
puncher were not complimentary. I left Washington 
hurriedly after being notified that my steamer would 
leave April 29, a few days earlier than I had figured 
on. The ship was the Caledonian, of the Leyland 
Line, bound for Manchester, England, and it sailed 
under the British Jack. It carried a large cargo of 
American cattle, 522 in all, thousands of refrigerated 
chickens, corn and hay. The officers and crew were 
British, and so were most of the cattle gang. 

When I arrived in Boston I found that it was neces- 
sary to sign shipping papers, and I had to stand the 
questioning of two sharp-tongued government officials. 



Campus to Cattle Boat 185 

Everything went well until they asked my age. Inno- 
cently I told the truth. It appeared, however, that no 
member of the cattle gang could be less than twenty- 
one, so the obliging officials adjusted my age to the 
requirement. 

On the morning of April 29 the Caledonian sailed 
out of Boston Harbor with an assistant foreman 
on board carrying as his most valued possession a letter 
of good wishes from President Taft. He also had a golf 
bag filled with his idea of choice clubs which he had 
carefully smuggled onto the boat and concealed with 
needful precaution under the hay. 

The cattle gang was assembled on the after deck. As 
we pulled out, one of the number played a mouth organ 
while the rest sang popular songs most lustily. I, alone 
on that, to me, never-to-be-forgotten April day stood 
idly dreaming. When my senses cleared Old Fort Inde- 
pendence and the quarantine station had grown dim 
and the water had widened into a great expanse of sea. 
It was then that I realized I was in a world differing 
from anything I had ever known before. There was 
no time for reveries, however. We were told to line up 
on the after deck while one of the ship's officers called 
the roll. Then a search was made for any possible stow- 
aways. Immediately thereafter, the foreman, Charlie 
Ward, in a most impressive voice, ordered us to get into 
our working clothes. 

My boy's world had turned into a man's world of 
hard work, rough speech and rigid discipline. The 
dominant idea of a cattle boat is to work under auto- 
cratic supervision, for the cattle must be well cared for, 

My official title was assistant foreman but my 



136 Chick Evans 5 Golf Book 

duties were varied and I was actually the engineer of 
the hoisting machines. Sometimes I helped to feed the 
cattle and did some work abont their stalls, but I was 
not sure that Charlie Ward regarded my work with 
perfect confidence. I was very proud of it myself, and 
put in a strenuous day, beginning about 4 A. M. Once, 
when one of the men had been badly burned, I went 
down in the 'stokers' hole and then I learned what the 
hardest work at sea is. 

In spite of many drawbacks I found the floating home 
both interesting and pleasant. I was very glad to be 
on a British boat because it gave me an opportunity to 
study the English temperament and English coinage, 
two subjects of which I was profoundly ignorant. Then 
with no passenger regulations I had practical access to 
the whole ship and had its ways and workings explained 
to me, a hopeless landsman absolutely unacquainted with 
seafaring things. The second engineer kindly explained 
the workings of the machinery and I think that I finally 
understood how the wheels went around. 

Within a half a day I became well acquainted with 
Charlie Ward, who hailed from Liverpool, and I liked 
him very much. I think that he chuckled to himself 
when I called him " Mr. Ward." He was an interest- 
ing man with a marvelous vocabulary. I have heard 
unlucky golfers in various parts of the world indulge 
in emphatic language but in picturesque vituperation 
Charlie Ward is the only real artist I have ever met. 
Compared with him all others are amateurs, mere dubs 
in fact. He told me that he swore because " bluff is 
everything with these fellows, and I like respect." He 
even practiced his gift at night as I know to my sorrow. 



Campus to Cattle Boat 137 

When I first went on board ship I was given the 
lower bunk in the same room with the foreman. Always 
having slept alone I was not sure that I could rest in 
a room with any one else, but when Ward began to 
express his opinion of various members of the cattle 
gang in his sleep my doubt was transformed into cer- 
tainty. At the end of two days he took pity on me 
and gave me a room to myself. The first night I occu- 
pied that room I left the port hole open, and at 3 A. M. 
the upper deck was washed and I was deluged. After 
that I took my fresh air during working hours. 

The cattle gang was made up of some very interest- 
ing specimens of humanity. Among them was a cock- 
ney Englishman who played the mouth organ for recre- 
ation. He was going home to be married and carried 
a diamond ring for his fiancee. How he protected it 
in that crowd I have never been able to understand. 
There was a self-styled prize-fighter, and several who 
could not speak English, among them a nice-tempered, 
obliging Jewish tailor. Over these men, unacquainted 
with the English language, Charlie's sulphurous words 
poured in an unimpressive flood. 

Once in an unusual fit of severity Ward ordered one 
of the cattle gang to take a bath. It proved a difficult 
process. First the man peeled off two coats and a 
sweater, then five shirts and two pairs of trousers. At 
this stage was disclosed a bursting pocket book sus- 
pended from his neck. He needed the bath and I hope 
it did him good, but for some reason I felt sorry for 
him, and also a bit apprehensive when I thought of the 
purse. He was bound for Hamburg, could not speak 
much English, and was the " goat " of the crowd. 



138 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

In order to keep in practice for the championship I 
determined to drive a number of golf balls each day of 
my voyage. As I made my first attempt off the well- 
scoured upper deck I was watched with much curiosity 
by many of those on board, but when the ball flew 
gracefully out to sea, so did a small portion of the 
deck. A howl went up. The deck was the pride and 
joy of Cornwall, the third mate, and nothing so serious 
had ever happened before to its smooth and shining 
surface. Only the ship's carpenter could replace that 
wooden divot, for the original was sailing merrily away 
to parts unknown. Not until I had diplomatically 
induced Cornwall to try a drive himself was I forgiven. 
When he had unwittingly committed a worse crime he 
began to understand my good intention and poor 
performance. 

As my little store of balls was lessening each day the 
first mate advised economy. After careful thought he 
instructed the ship's carpenter to drill a hole through 
a ball — a thing easier said than done. Through this 
hole a string was passed and a great deal of practice 
and exercise could be obtained by driving this securely 
fastened ball to the length of its tether. I do not know 
that I could recommend this, however, as a means of 
training under other conditions. Of course I still drove 
" free " balls occasionally, and once, when we sighted 
a whale, I tried for it. Whether I missed it entirely, 
or the ball played the part of a second Jonah I do not 
know. 

As day succeeded day the monotonous sameness of 
" water, water everywhere " began to affect us, and the 
passing of a boat became a matter of increasing impor- 



Campus to Cattle Boat 139 

tance. I watched, with the interest born of novelty, the 
third mate, a fine, hard-working chap, hold semaphore 
communication with the passing ship. The second 
engineer photographed the Franconia and Lusitania, 
and he also took all of our pictures, but it was only by 
the exercise of my best powers of persuasion that Charlie 
Ward was induced to become one of the group. This 
seems strange because he labored under the delusion that 
he bore a striking resemblance to President Taft. 

The days on board the Caledonian were not 
unpleasant. Indeed I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and 
I would be sorry to have missed the experience. My 
health luckily was perfect throughout the voyage. Not 
even one qualm of seasickness disturbed me. 

Only those who have crossed the Atlantic in a slow 
boat can appreciate how beautiful the first glimpse of 
land appears and how welcome the view. We were in 
sight of land for two whole days before we finally dis- 
charged our cargo and placed our feet on solid Mother 
Earth. Slowly we passed Liverpool, and ereepingly we 
moved up the Manchester Ship Canal between the 
greenest banks I had ever seen. Here was a quaint vil- 
lage, there a big factory, and a little farther on, oh 
blissful sight, a golf grounds, with players driving 
little white balls over a beautiful green course. Pre- 
paratory to landing, bales of hay had been placed on 
the upper deck so I mounted one and drove a few balls 
onto the grounds as we passed along. We were so close 
to one group of players that I could easily hear them 
talk, and as I sent a ball whizzing over the course I 
heard one man say: " My word, that fellow has a 
pretty good swing! " 



140 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I could hardly recognize the various members of the 
cattle gang in their going ashore clothes. I had 
waited for an opportunity, when no one was look- 
ing, to drop my ship clothes overboard into the canal. 
I do not know what rule I may have violated in doing 
this but it was the only fate they deserved. Then 
arrayed once more in seemly garments I found myself 
at last ashore in green old England, and the first part 
of my cherished dream had come true. 

I carried a letter of introduction to an official of the 
Chicago firm, Mr. Middlebrook, who immediately 
arranged a game for me at the Leasowe Golf Club near 
Liverpool, the first links on which I played in England. 
I cannot adequately tell how wonderful the turf at 
Leasowe seemed to me. It is a seaside course as the 
British understand that term, something we hardly 
know in this country, though I was destined in the next 
few weeks to see a good many of them. At Leasowe 
the playing field was broken only by sand dunes — with 
not a tree upon it. I went out in 40 and came back 
in 43 — my first score on an English course. 

Whether the unfailing kindness extended to me from 
the beginning was the result of international courtesy 
due a supposedly representative American, or a friendly 
sympathy for my youth, or whether an unmixed British 
ancestry two or three centuries back made me soon feel 
at home, I do not know, but the truth is that from first 
to last I received only the most generous and hospitable 
treatment. 

I carried letters of introduction to Alexander Walker, 
Piersland, Troon, which is only a few miles from Prest- 
wick, where the British Amateur was to be played that 



Campus to Cattle Boat 141 

year. I had been invited to go directly from Liverpool 
to his home, and at beautiful Piersland I spent three 
happy weeks, covering my whole stay in the Prestwick 
neighborhood and including, of course, the tournament 
week. 

As I was staying at Troon it was not very convenient 
for me to practice at Prestwick, and besides it costs a 
pound sterling a week for non-resident members to play 
there. The privileges of the course were not extended 
to contestants in the championship until three days 
before the opening day. In the United States it is 
usually a week. 

As is well known the Troon course is very good — 
one of the best over there — and the members of the 
club, realizing my difficulties, invited me to use their 
course for my practice. They did more. They arranged 
two and sometimes three daily matches for me with the 
best players in the club. In these matches I played a 
great deal with Mr. Stevens, a semifinalist in the cham- 
pionship, Mr. Jenkins, a plus-4 man at the club, who 
went to the sixth round in the championship, and whom 
I saw win the title itself at Sandwich in 1914. These 
plaj^ers, aside from their golf, were fine and interesting 
men. I also played frequently with Robert Carrick of 
Winchester School, a young fellow about my own age, a 
very good player and the best of companions. I had, 
too, some instructive games with Willie Fernie, the 
club's professional, a former open champion. 

It was a surprise to learn that fair greens are hardly 
mown at all in Great Britain, the work being done by 
grazing sheep. I tried to imagine a flock of them at 
Edge water. In Scotland these animals graze among the 



142 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

players, the only casualty being a broken leg when a 
golf ball goes astray. The chief disadvantage of this 
mode of " mowing " is an inclination on the part of 
the sheep to select certain choice spots for nibbling to 
the neglect of others. To counteract this tendency it 
is the custom to chase the flock once a day over the 
whole course. The sight of Willie Fernie each morn- 
ing urging his living mowing machines to an impartial 
performance of their duty, amazed and amused me. The 
result, however, was good both from a golfer's and an 
economist 's standpoint. 

Troon was very beautiful to me. At Prestwick the 
sand dunes hide the water, but at Troon one sees it all 
the time, and to me, born and brought up so far inland, 
the sea never ceases to impress. Twenty-one miles off 
the coast was an island, but often it stood out so clear 
and distinct in the bright sunshine that it seemed but 
a short distance away. I used to gaze in great content- 
ment over the sea towards this lonely land. 

There was another thing besides the sea that I learned 
to love in Scotland, and that was the mysterious beauty 
of the northern twilights. Playing golf at 10 o'clock 
in the evening by a soft grey half-light is something to 
remember. 

I liked Prestwick very much, too, and I had some 
great matches there before the championship began — 
two well-remembered ones with Mr. Hilton. His cour- 
tesies to me were many and I greatly appreciated the 
contests with him. My practice games at Prestwick 
were usually followed by a crowd of people curious to 
see how the American boy played. I was in pretty good 
form and played fairly well. 



Campus to Cattle Boat 143 

It was during the practice games that I came to 
know the young Tasmanians, Mr. Clyde and Bruce 
Pearce. Since those happy days the two brothers have 
made once more the long journey from Tasmania to 
England, this time to take part in the tragic game of 
war, and somewhere in France the elder brother laid 
down his life for king and country. 

I used to think that Albert B. Lambert of St. Louis 
was the best left-handed golfer I had ever seen, but after 
playing with Bruce Pearce who beat me in the cham- 
pionship I must award the palm to him. I had, too, a 
pleasurable round with Major Davies, the champion of 
India ; in fact, I met golfers from all over the world, and 
each and every one was extremely kind to me. 

Charley Hunter, the professional at Prestwick, was 
very friendly to me. He was seventy-odd years old and 
a most interesting character. Perhaps if I had followed 
his advice more closely I should have done better, but 
I got more fun out of my trip by following my own 
inclination to play whenever I got a chance. He wrote 
me later, saying: " You took too much out of yourself 
before the championship. Fifty-four holes a day, I 
guess, was too much." His son Johnny was most encour- 
aging and even lent me his putter when I mentioned 
that I was putting poorly. 



CHAPTER XII 

A YANKEE GOLFER ABROAD 

In the British Amateur up to the fifth round 
— Scotch tweeds and a hot American — Great 
golfers in action at Sandwich — First Amateur in 
France — From Paris to Jackson Park. 

It is customary to usher in most large tournaments 
by a small one, and the " curtain raiser " at the Prest- 
wick event was the Troon Golf Club Tournament, or 
the Duke of Portland's Tournament as it was usually 
called, because two of the prizes to the value of thirty 
and twenty pounds were given by him. The event 
was medal play at 72 holes, a week before the great 
Amateur. 

Scotland's best were in the tourney, but neverthe- 
less the youngster from the United States, cheered by 
the fairest gallery in the world, did not do badly; in 
fact part of the time he was leading, and at the end 
he needed only a 5 on an easy 4 hole for a tie, but he 
didn't get it. Horrible to relate, he took four putts 
on that hole. 

I really came in third, Hon. Michael Scott winning 
first place and W. G. M. Boyd of the home club sec- 
ond. Many weeks later, after I reached' home, I 
received a merchandise certificate, from a tradesman 
in Glasgow, I think, for my prize. Some years later 

144 




Friends of many years. A. W. Cutten, prominent Chicago busi- 
ness man, and Chick Evans, snapped at a wayside station on their 
way to California in 1917. 




The Guelph Country Club, Canada, scene in 1916 of the first 
Red Cross golf match on the American continent. The girls in the 
upper picture each paid $25 (which went to the cause) to have 
their photos taken with Chick Evans and George S. Lyon. 




Steffens, Chicago. 

Charles F. Thompson, who, as president of the Western Golf 
Association, largely contributed to the success of Red Cross golf 
in 1918. 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 145 

I was surprised to learn that the United States Golf 
Association frowned upon such prizes in our own 
country. 

It was a kappy and tremendously exciting day when 
I played my first round in the British Amateur at 
Prestwick. I lasted to the fifth round, but I did not 
play all of them. For the first round I drew a bye, 
although I was very anxious to begin play, and was 
a little nervous and excited over the delay. 

In my next round my opponent, A. B. Latter of the 
Royal Blackheath Club, was compelled by illness to 
forfeit the match. In the third round I defeated Cap- 
tain F. H. Stephens of the "West Dorset Club, 5 and 
3, and in the fourth round I defeated Sidney H. Fry, 
of the Royal North Devon Club, by 4 and 3. Of course 
I was pleased with the results and felt that I was play- 
ing well. 

I might as well confess that I did not expect to lose 
in my match with Bruce Pearce. I felt that here was 
a man I would be meeting on more nearly equal terms, 
for his knowledge of the course could be little if any 
better than mine, and my game in the Troon tourna- 
ment had been better than his. 

The chief feature of my match with Bruce Pearce, 
according to reports, was the shedding of my coat on 
the nineteenth hole. At least that seemed to be the 
point of the game that attracted the greatest attention, 
and thereby hangs a tale and the little question of the 
power of suggestion. Ordinarily a Scottish May is 
cold and calls for heavy tweeds, which are generally 
worn. I had been practicing at Atlanta, Georgia, and 
my clothes were lightweight. Even the new overcoat 



146 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

that I had bought at Liverpool I had lost on the train 
on the way to Prestwick. 

It happened that Silas H. Strawn of Chicago, presi- 
dent of the United States Golf Association and a good 
friend of mine, was touring the British Isles with Wil- 
liam V. Kelley, a member of the Chicago Golf Club, and, 
of course, they were coming on to the championship at 
Prestwick. On the way Mr. Strawn made some pur- 
chases in Glasgow, and the thought came to him that 
I would probably need a tweed golfing suit such as 
was worn for that climate. So he brought one on. I 
was delighted with it and felt that for once I was 
properly clothed for the championship. I was experi- 
encing a feeling of satisfaction when the weather began 
to get warm and I, unaccustomed to tweeds, began 
to suffer, but I was not willing to change back to my 
old clothes. 

The culmination of my discomfort was reached in 
my match with Bruce Pearce. The sun beat down 
mercilessly, and I grew hotter and hotter in my unac- 
customed garments. Time and again I felt that I would 
have to remove my coat, but I had no belt for my 
knickerbockers. Then the thought began to haunt me 
that I would ask some one to lend me a belt so that I 
could remove my coat, but the knickers were not cut 
to be worn with a belt, but came up on my back in a 
most extraordinary fashion. 

I was 3 up and 5 to go, and with, every step I became 
more irritated by the heat. I began to slip behind. 
We were even on the eighteenth and had to play an 
extra hole. Then when I was in a bunker and he on 
the green, with the match safely his, I did what I had 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 147 

wanted to do throughout the whole match. Before 
making my shot I took off that coat of torture. It 
could do me no good then, but instinctively when all 
was lost I followed! a desire that had obsessed me 
from my first drive to the last niblick shot. It was 
a great relief, but unproductive at that stage of any 
good to my game. 

After my defeat I went away with a party of Amer- 
icans for a delightful trip through the Trossachs, com- 
ing back for the final match between Mr. Hilton and 
Mr. Lassen. I followed the entire match with much 
interest. I was finding the British Amateur thrillingly 
entertaining, and there was little time for regret over 
my own defeat. The crowds, the management, the 
world-famous players, were most impressive to me. 
The galleries were huge, and, much to my surprise, 
kept in order by policemen. 

I was loath to leave my new friends, for even in 
the short space of time I had spent in Ayrshire they 
had grown dear to me. I had lived at beautiful Piers- 
land, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Walker, and 
they and their children and all the delightful friends 
of that household made my first visit to Britain a joy 
that it will be a life-long pleasure to look back upon. 

Mr. Strawn, Mr. Kelley and I went from Prestwick 
to the old grey city of Edinburgh, and we had some 
delightful matches at Muirfield, North Berwick and 
Gullane. They had already been to St. Andrews, and 
so I journeyed alone to the great stronghold of golf. 
To play one round on the historic course had been my 
real reason for crossing the Atlantic. I played not 
one, but several rounds on the course. A temporary 



148 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

membership and friendly treatment made my Scottish 
journey ever memorable. 

I crossed the bay from St. Andrews and played at 
Carnoustie, after which I took a night train from Dun- 
dee to London — my first experience in a British 
sleeper. I did not have long to tarry in London, just 
a hasty bit of sight-seeing and then out to Stoke Poges, 
where the Gold Vase Competition was to be played. 
It was a fine course and a wonderful field. Among 
the players were Mr. Hilton, with his Prestwick hon- 
ors thick upon him; Captain Hutchinson, E. Martin- 
Smith, H. E. Taylor, the Pearce brothers and Robert 
Harris, the great Carnoustie player, who won the vase. 
Mr. Harris played great golf that day, his score being 
145 for the two rounds, Mr. Taylor coming in second 
with 148, and I, third, with a rather laggard 153. Of 
my game a London paper said : 

" Those who had not been to Prestwick were anxious to see 
Mr. Evans, and as he had been drawn to play with Mr. E. 
Martin-Smith there was every prospect of an exacting round. 
Mr. Evans possesses the grand style with plenty of execution; 
but at an early stage of the game he began missing short 
putts, and the malady recurred often enough in the morning 
to spoil his round. From the tee and through the green his 
golf was that of a master; he was seen at his best in the 
afternoon. It was 'a grand day's golf; it would have been 
worth making the journey to Stoke Poges to see the 4th to 
the last hole by Mr. Evans in the morning, when he made two 
great recoveries, playing his second from a pulled tee shot in 
the ditch and laying his approach pitch from the top of a 
bunker dead." 

I was staying at a small cottage near Stoke Poges, 
and while I was in the district I played at Walton 
Heath and Sunningdale. It was after a round on the 
latter course, and following a too generous and unac- 
customed consumption of tea and jam, that I was 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 149 

taken quite ill. Everything had been delightful until 
then, but sickness found me also a very homesick boy. 
C. H. Alison, the secretary of the Stoke Poges Club, 
had been looking after me, and he redoubled his care 
when he found me ill. 

I had been invited to stay during the British Open 
Championship at Rashleigh, the home of Mrs. Worth, an 
American who had lived for many years in Walmer. 
There was one son, Frank Worth, a golfer, and I was 
made to feel as if I were another son of the household. 
I could have appreciated this at any time, but in my 
tired, half-sick condition I was unspeakably grateful to 
the delightful woman who received me as a son and 
asked me to call her * ' mother. ' ' 

My first trip to England fell within the year in 
which King George was crowned, and in honor of that 
event the amateur-professional competition, immedi- 
ately preceding the British Open, was called the Coro- 
nation Match. In this I was paid the great honor of 
being paired with John Ball. It was a graceful com- 
pliment to America, and I have always been sorry that 
it could not have fallen into worthier hands, or at 
least to a man who was physically fit at the time. I 
do not think, however, that it was my recent illness 
that caused my bad playing, rather excitement and 
nervousness over a match with the great amateur. We 
were on the first team against James Braid and Arnaud 
Massy. The weather was disagreeable, rain in the 
morning and a stiff wind in the afternoon. 

Mr. Ball and I started off rather well, winning the 
first hole, I having holed a four yards' putt, and I 
recall with pleasure a particularly good cleek shot that 



150 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I made, and the lusty cheers with which it was greeted, 
but there were other plays not so good. Mr. BalPs 
own game was admirable, but he met all my own little 
shortcomings with unruffled kindness. 

It may be of interest to mention that Mr. Ball and 
I are the only golfers who have won the National 
Amateur and the National Open titles of our respective 
countries in the same year, and his victories occurred 
in 1890, the year in which I was born. 

The amateurs in the Coronation Match proved com- 
paratively easy pickings for the " pros," only one 
amateur team coming through with a victory. 

By the time that I began to play in the Open I was 
feeling quite fit physically and for three rounds I 
played well, at least I consider 78 for three successive 
rounds on the difficult Royal St. George course very 
good golf. Then I fell down to the ignominious depths 
of 89, and lost my chance for a good score. 

I consider the days I spent at Sandwich in 1911 the 
most instructive period of my whole golfing life. I 
was able for the first time to see the greatest golfers 
in the world playing their best golf, and it was nec- 
essary to go to Britain to see them, for we had no 
players with such mastery of shots. I watched these 
great professionals in action and I think that I profited 
much, for ever since that time I have considered my 
game sounder. One reason why I wanted to go to 
Paris was to see them play again. At Sandwich Massy 
and Vardon tied for the title and Massy lost in the 
play-off. 

It was at Sandwich that I met Ryder Richardson, 
the secretary of the Royal St. George Golf Club, a man 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 151 

very popular with Americans, and particularly with 
one who comes from Chicago, U. S. A. I can never 
forget the genial way in which he greeted me and the 
kindness and consideration with which he treated me 
at all times. 

I had not really intended to go to Paris, and for 
the very good reason that I had not expected to have 
sufficient money for the trip, but by some chance or 
another my little store of coin was lasting miraculously. 
As I was down at Sandwich, just a few miles from 
Dover, it was only too easy to slip across to Calais. 
I was seasick-proof, too, and the Channel had no ter- 
rors for me. 

The French Championships were to be played at 
La Boulie, about eleven miles from Paris, and just 
outside of Versailles. In Paris I met for the first 
time Monsieur Pierre Deschamps, a charming man 
who presides with Gallic grace over the destinies of 
Golf de Paris. 

The club membership was cosmopolitan. In addi- 
tion to the French and a few Italian golfers, many 
Englishmen and some Americans, who resided in Paris, 
were members, and two Russian Grand Dukes held the 
position of honorary vice-presidents. The social life 
was pleasant, the clubhouse comfortable, and the course 
a good one, stretching out over hills and encircled by 
woods. And always the larks were singing in the sky, 
and to me the sound was entrancing, but some of the 
players found that the liquid melody affected their 
shots most evilly. 

The French Open Championship began on July 3, 
and it was the first event in which I played on French 



152 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

soil. I won the position of first amateur, but was con- 
siderably behind the leading professionals* who played 
brilliantly. The event was won by Arnaud Massy and 
was a great triumph for French golf. Only the week 
before at Sandwich Massy had tied with Harry Vardon 
for the British title and lost in the play-off. Most of 
the great British professionals were at La Boulie. Ray 
was second, C. Mayo, third, and Vardon, fourth. For 
my own small part in the event I quote from a British 
journal : 

" Mr. Evans found peculiarly congenial soil in the Republic. 
He finished first amateur in the French Open Championship 
with a score for the four rounds only six strokes worse than 
that of James Braid, eight better than that of the next ama- 
teur, and ten better than that of Mr. S. H. Fry." 

In the first round of the French Amateur Champion- 
ship which followed the Open in a few days, I met E. 
Senn; next Francois de Bellet, former champion of 
France, then came a very clovse match with E. A. Lassen, 
runner-up to Mr. Hilton in the British Amateur at Prest- 
wick. In the semifinals I had J. E. P. Mellor, and in 
the finals I had J. G. Anderson of Brae Burn, Massa- 
chusetts. This match was at 36 holes and success, which 
meant the title of French Amateur Champion, did not 
come to me until the thirty-eighth. It was a very 
hot day, the match was close. "We worked hard, but 
perhaps not brilliantly, for we were very tired. At 
least I was. 

M. Deschamps 'tendered the golfers a beautiful din- 
ner that night, and I use the word beautiful 
designedly, for it was lovely to look upon and luscious 
to taste. In spite of my fatigue I had been very happy 
in Paris, and I wanted to see more of it, but by this 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 153 

time my money was about exhausted, and there was 
nothing for me to do except to make a hasty trip across 
the channel to Liverpool, where I took second-class 
passage on the steamer Franconia. 

Returning I landed at Boston, the port from which 
I had sailed. Friends persuaded me to stay over and 
play in a tournament in Essex County. It began the 
next day and would continue to the end of the week. 
I believe that I won the low qualifying medal, and 
several match rounds, and then ran up against Parker 
Whittemore, who defeated me in the final by 2 up and 
1 to play. 

Of course, I should not have tarried for that tourna- 
ment, for the Western Amateur was due to begin in 
Detroit the following Monday, and if I expected to 
participate I must catch a certain train out of Boston 
that night. It seemed impossible, but Mr. Willett, who 
had been most kind to me, took me in his car and 
raced me to an outlying station, where I caught the 
train for Detroit. I reached there late Sunday night, 
and in the first paper I purchased Monday morning I 
found the headlines: 

" LE PETIT POULET EST ARRIVE." 

I qualified very well that day and was drawn in the 
first round against my old opponent Mason Phelps. 
We had a very unusual match and he beat me 1 up. 
It was not the defeat that was unusual, for I had a 
habit of suffering at his hands, but several features 
of the game were. We played through the rain, and 
we halved fourteen straight holes. I was cold, tired 
and anxious to get home, and after my first acute 
disappointment I was not really sorry to lose, although 



154 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I had done the best I could on a course on which I had 
had no practice, and I confess that I was homesick. 
I had not seen my people since March, and this was 
August 26. 

Later on I was happy to learn that my old friend 
and inter scholastic rival Albert Seckel had come suc- 
cessfully through the terrific matches of the week. He 
defeated Robert Gardner in the final by a big margin. 

It so happened that this winning of the Western 
Championship was Albert's greatest golf achievement, 
and I was glad that I had not, by any particularly 
lucky round, stood, even for a moment, in his way. 
Several times before he had played magnificent golf 
and I had come along and with a strangely fortunate 
round swept away the fruits of his victories. 

In 1911 I played my last round in the Chicago City 
Championship. I was sorry to give up these events, for 
they had brought me much happiness. The thrills of 
the big gallery and my own highly-charged interest in 
those parallel holes of the flat and rather monotonous 
links are a priceless, lifetime possession 'that the great- 
est course in the world could hardly cause me to 
approximate now. I can never go back there without 
something of the old feeling. 

To my friendly gallery on that eventful day in 
August, 1911, I must have seemed a different sort of 
golfer when I stepped up to the first tee, for I had 
just returned from Great Britain, and, to myself at 
least, I felt that I had brought back many new and 
valuable ideas. To me that trip marked a new era 
of golf — one which would take me out of the heap, 
for had I not sought the fountain head of golf knowl- 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 155 

edge ? Asa matter of fact I had really revolutionized 
my game. I had simplified it, and I hoped that I had 
strengthened it. I was anxious to try it out on a 
familiar course. I was using my new grip, and an old 
and spliced Jimmie Braid brassie, for my wooden shots. 

There was a tremendous field — about 250, I think. 
At the end of the qualifying round I was pleased to 
find that I had broken the course record with a 69, 
six strokes better than my clubmate G. M. McConnell. 

In my first match round I beat W. B. Quinn ; in the 
second Joe McDonald, a promising young player ; next 
I met Marue Carroll, whom I had met many times 
before, and my opponent in the final was Francis 
Blossom of Midlothian, whom I defeated by 9 and 8. 

I have mentioned these rounds because I wanted to 
show by a tournament on an accustomed course the 
effect of my British trip on my game. I think that I 
averaged 71 1/6 for the entire week of the champion- 
ship. 

The final victory had given me permanent possession 
of the Evening Post Cup. I had been working for it 
for five years. 

The City Championship, the Glenview tourney, where 
I won the low qualifying medal and reached the finals ; 
the Idlewild, which I won, and incidentally set a new 
record for the course, brought me to within two weeks 
of the National Championship at the Apawamis Coun- 
try Club, near New York City. Unusual interest 
attached to it that year because Harold Hilton, the new 
British Amateur Champion, was coming over. It was 
felt that his participation was a compliment to the 
country, and in a small degree to my visit to his own. 



156 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

H. S. Macaulay had a lovely cottage near the Chi- 
cago Golf Club course, at Wheaton, and he very kindly 
invited me to go out there for practice, which I did. 
Mr. and Mrs. Macaulay are both dead now, but I hope 
that I was able to make them realize how deeply 
grateful I was for their kindness while I was in their 
home and their telegrams of encouragement while the 
big tourney was on. 

Following my usual custom, I reached the Apawamis 
links just in time for a round or so before the quali- 
fying round. It is a pet belief of mine that it is a 
mistake to reach the tournament grounds too early. 
Nothing is gained by tiring oneself out before the 
event begins. Many a man is exhausted before he 
reaches the first match round, and I for one never 
had any strength to spare. There is, to be sure, the 
risk of losing out in the early rounds owing to unfa- 
miliarity with the course, but that is more than counter- 
balanced by the chance to improve with each round. 

There were 184 entries in this event. Tom Sherman 
led the first qualifying round with a 74, but fell down 
somewhat on the second. Harold Hilton made a 74 on 
the second round and with a 76 on the first carried 
oft the low medal. Robert Gardner and Albert Seckel 
were tied for the next place, Paul Hunter was fourth, 
and I, fifth — a fine showing for the Chicago contingent. 

I played the second half of my qualifying round 
with Francis Ouimet. He was nervous and much afraid 
that his two 82 's would not qualify him, and as a mat- 
ter of fact they did not. 

My second match round was an unexpectedly tough 
one. It was with A. F. Kammer, a man practically 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 157 

unknown to me, but it was only by the greatest piece 
of luck that I was able to beat him on the thirty-eighth 
hole. His defeat of Mason Phelps in the first round 
showed his skill, however, and should have prepared 
me for the strenuous round. Paul Hunter, who had 
been playing very brilliant golf throughout the season, 
lost to Jerome Travers by the narrowest of margins. 

In my third round I defeated my old pal Albert 
Seckel, but in order to do it I was obliged to make a 
70, the best score in the tournament. 

This victory brought me against Fred Herreshoff: in 
the semifinals and to a very rainy day. For some 
reason I did not think that I would have any trouble 
beating Fred, but I was sadly mistaken. I had had 
trouble with the erratic rolls of the Apawamis greens 
before, but my difficulties increased with the down- 
pour. Still I was 3 up at the end of the morning 
round, but in the afternoon, before I hardly realized 
it, the advantage of the morning had vanished and I 
was being steadily outplayed. I could not " come 
back " and I was soon shaking hands with my vic- 
torious rival. This defeat was a keen disappointment 
to me, because I had been very anxious to play Mr. 
Hilton. 

The final was a thrilling match played before a tre- 
mendous gallery. Mr. Hilton was 3 up at the end of 
the first nine holes, and 4 up by luncheon time. This 
lead soon increased to 6 up. Then Mr. Herreshoff came 
back with a vengeance. On the twenty-seventh he 
was 4 down ; on the thirty-third all even, and the last 
three holes were halved in a series of heartbreaking 
shots. Then, when Britain and America went down 



158 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

that first fairway of the extra hole, two singular 
things happened: Herreshoff missed his second shot 
and pnt his third on the green; Mr. Hilton sliced his 
second to the woods on the right, hit a stone and 
hounded back on the green, winning the hole and 
championship. 

American writers have frequently described this 
championship-winning shot as " lucky/' and that 
is true. Somewhere in every well-matched competition 
the winner has chanced upon a " lucky shot." I have 
suffered from many myself and I have also benefited 
by them. 

The evening of the Apawamis final a number of 
golfers, among them K. L. Ames, Mr. Hilton, the new 
international champion; Albert Seckel, Fred Herres- 
hoff and the author were taken to Rye, New York, 
where a swift motor boat carried us out to the yacht 
of Ledyard Blair, whose guests we were. 

"We awoke next morning to find ourselves lying in 
the blue waters of Peconic Bay, and over on the point 
we saw a golf house and knew that we were near the 
National Golf Links of America, a remarkable course 
with which the name of Charles B. Macdonald is 
closely associated. Here were reproduced some of the 
most famous holes in the world, and we had come for 
the first tournament ever held on the course. The 
entry list comprised about all the leading American 
golfers, with Mr. Hilton to add to its quality. 

Fred Herreshoff, who was playing such remarkable 
golf that year, won the low score with 84, the figures 
showing, when one considers the players, the great 
difficulty of the course. I was able to defeat Herres- 



A Yankee Golfer Abroad 159 

h off in a match, round, however, and reached, as I had 
hoped, Mr. Hilton in the final. It was a very windy 
day and I learned a great deal from that match, for 
Mr. Hilton played beautifully, keeping the ball low 
all the time and never very far. It was evident that 
he had learned to play on the windswept courses of 
Great Britain. I did not seem to have any chance to 
beat him, for I was never in the lead, although I caught 
him in the afternoon. 

Mr. Hilton certainly made, and deserved to make, 
a clean sweep of American golf that year. He had a 
greater variety of shots and better control of them in 
the wind than any of our leading players. The thing 
that troubled him, however, was our mosquitoes, and 
we youngsters found his dislike of them very amusing. 
We learned, too, that he limited himself to fifty cigar- 
ettes a day. 

Returning to New York, Seckel and I were the guests 
of James L. Taylor, a director of the United States 
Golf Association. I had known Mr. Taylor for about 
three years and had seen him at each National, where 
he had been very cordial to the young boy who was 
always much pleased to receive a smile or word of 
encouragement from the big officials. Mr. Taylor 
wanted us to go to Manchester, Vermont, for a big golf 
tournament, an invitation which I finally decided to 
accept. 

The course, the Ekwanok, was very picturesque and 
the first one in the mountains on which I had played. 
The tournament was well-attended. The competition 
was for the famous Equinox cup, a trophy already 
bearing many well-known names. I met Freddie Mar- 



160 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

tin of the home club in the finals and won after a very 
close contest. Freddie was a very promising player; 
his death a short time ago was a great loss to the 
game. 

Late that autumn I had the honor of being elected 
an Athletic Member of the Chicago Athletic Associa- 
tion. It was the first time that this club, its name long 
synonymous with the best there is in athletics, had rec- 
ognized golf. 

Throughout the whole summer of 1911, filled as it 
was with golfing pleasure, there was a feeling that a 
very important decision would have to be made in 
the fall, for I realized that I should either have to return 
to school or enter business. I was sorry, of course, 
that I had missed the few months from school, but 
then, on the other hand, my trip abroad and my travels 
in this country were, I felt, of more educational value 
to me than years at a university, and more and more 
it was being brought home to me that it was necessary 
to begin to earn my living. I had no intention of 
studying for a profession. 

I had made a great many friends by this time, and 
naturally their advice varied with their own business, 
but one and all showed a generous desire to help me. 
I considered insurance, stocks, bonds and various other 
occupations. 

About that time I was at Lake Geneva, and Swing 
Starring, brother of my chum Mason, suggested that 
I become a salesman in the bond house in which he 
was employed. I took his advice and applied for the 
job, and I am still with this house — Allerton, Greene 
& King, now King. Hoagland & Company. 




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Golfing adversities during the season of 1919 failed to wipe out 
Chick's smile. 



CHAPTER XIII 

MY SECOND WESTERN TITLE 

An old club in new quarters — A flood, a tour- 
ney and another title — Fire precedes Torrid 
Championship — Heat knocks out British players 
— Victory over Hilton a solace for defeat by 
Travers. 

The Western Amateur of 1912 was scheduled for 
Denver. It was the first time that the event had been 
played west of the Mississippi River. It required a 
great deal of courage to ask my firm for time to play 
there but consent was readily given. Then came the 
question of practice and in this connection and at this 
juncture it may be appropriate to record the passing 
of the Old Edgewater Club and the birth of the new. 

The Old Edgewater golf course was on leased ground 
and for several years, whenever the lease expired, the 
club had feared that it would not be renewed. 
The fear was well-grounded, for the leases were held 
by different people, and each year showed a little loss 
of land to the club; a house here, and a house there, 
and the little nine-hole course was being gradually 
diminished. During that time the members were busily 
engaged looking for new property for they realized that 
they would soon have to give up the old. 

The prospective change was a matter of much regret 
for the affection of the members for the old course and 

161 



162 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the little clubhouse was exceptionally strong and deep. 
It was easy of access, too. Finally sufficient land was 
located, and a handsome, commodious clubhouse was 
built. It was on Pratt Avenue and about a mile from 
my own home. The course was 18 holes and in every 
way our quarters were bigger and more pretentious. 
When I came back from Europe the removal had taken 
place. It was a heavy blow, and I do not think anyone 
can ever realize the pang it cost me to see those big 
apartment buildings in process of construction and the 
empty place where the little clubhouse had been. 

The new course not being convenient for practice 
before or after business hours my good friend Judge 
John Barton Payne, at this writing Secretary of the 
Interior, came to my rescue by offering me a room in 
his cottage near the Chicago Golf Club links. There is 
no better golf course in the local district for practice 
than Chicago's and with good transportation it was 
easy to make connections. 

On July 7 I went around this difficult course in 68, 
one better than a score made by Walter J. Travis, which 
he had designated as the only perfect round of golf that 
he had ever played. This achievement of mine caused 
a good deal of excitement at the club where the mem- 
bers were much interested in my career. 

The entry list of the "Western Championship was rep- 
resentative of the best in the West, and it was not long 
before a crowd of us were on our way to Denver. There 
we had lots of fun practicing and Sawyer and I made 
rounds of 71 — not so well as we 'd done on other links 
but it was the record for the course. By the close 
of Saturday afternoon everything was considered in 



My Second Western Title 163 

readiness for the great contest which was to begin on 
Monday. 

On Sunday afternoon I was waiting for a street car 
when I became conscious of a mighty rumble appar- 
ently coming from the heights above and constantly 
increasing in intensity. Being from a flat country the 
ways of mountains were not familiar to me, and there- 
fore I was not particularly perturbed until alarming 
shouts reached me that a flood was coming down Cherry 
Creek. That water course is a comparatively insignifi- 
cant stream rising in the mountains and finding its way 
about the golf grounds. Only the day before I had 
fallen into it as I crossed over to the seventeenth green, 
but now in an incredibly short time it became a raging 
torrent strewn with debris, and with the water reach- 
ing the very door of the clubhouse. 

The next morning we went out to take stock of the 
damage and found the beautiful grounds on which we 
had played the day before a scene of devastation. The 
fourth hole was absolutely gone and likewise the fif- 
teenth. Every bridge on the course except the suspen- 
sion bridge was swept away, and sediment, dead chick- 
ens, pieces of trees and bridges littered the fair greens. 
Nature had entered a tourney of her own and evidently 
she can win the championship every time. 

To those who did not know the mettle of Denver the 
outlook for a championship seemed poor. The Del 
Monte Club of California generously offered their 
grounds for the event. Furthermore they agreed to 
pay the expenses of a special train to convey the golfers 
to the coast, but the Denver officials got together and 
laid out a nine hole course on the high spots of their 



164 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

land, and I believe it was the longest of its kind ever 
built and the most unusual. The championship began 
on Tuesday and all Denver came out to see the 
matches. 

In appreciation of the splendid work done by Frank 
L. Woodward, president of the Denver Country Club, 
in repairing the damage, the visiting golfers presented 
a loving cup to the man who made the tourney possible. 
The entrants also insisted that Mr. Woodward compete 
in the qualifying- round. Immediately after he had 
holed his last putt John D. Cady, president of the 
Western Golf Association, made the presentation. 

In the qualifying round Warren Wood made low 
score with a 69, while I came second with a 73. Owing 
to the Western system of numerical pairing Warren was 
in the upper half and I in the lower half of the draw. 
Warren defeated Mason Phelps in the first round, Arm- 
strong in the second, Fraser Hale in the third and Jack 
Neville of San Francisco in the semifinals. I beat Whit- 
ney of San Francisco in the first round, Kenneth Ed- 
wards of Chicago in the second, my old friend Ned Saw- 
yer in the third and Harry Legg in the semifinals by 
4 and 3. There was some interesting golf in those 
matches and some low scores made at times. 

The final of this event was one of the most interest- 
ing matches in which I ever played. It was a beautiful 
day and the gallery large. Our morning round was a 
nip and tuck affair, and we went to luncheon with 
Wood 1 up. 

The afternoon round was nerve-racking and at one 
time I was 4 down, but I squared the match, and after 
the twelfth we were never more than a hole apart with 



My Second Western Title 165 

enough mistakes sandwiched in to keep the gallery on 
edge. What proved to be the turning point came on the 
thirty-third hole. To quote a golf writer: "Wood 
had putted close to the cup and Evans, who was 30 
feet away, putted downhill. There was danger of his 
knocking Wood in, but luck broke for Evans and he 
caromed off Wood's ball into the cup for a 3 to win." 

That made me 1 up, but Warren squared the match 
on the thirty-fourth. I won the thirty-fifth, and the title 
rested with the next hole, which I shall remember as 
long as I live. 

The thirty-sixth green is near the large clubhouse 
with its spreading veranda crowded, on this occasion, 
with men and women who had come out to see the game. 
Just as the sun was sinking below the mountain tops 
we played up to that green, and it so happened that I 
stood to hole a five-foot putt for a half and the match, 
which I did. 

From Denver I went to Colorado Springs for a short 
rest and a sight of Pike's Peak, being the guest of Olin 
Hemming. At daybreak Hemming and I, midirons in 
hand and two balls apiece, took a trolley to Pike's 
Peak. At the top we had our pictures taken as we sent 
those balls flying into unknown chasms of the Rocky 
Mountains. 

I came back to Chicago and began to turn my thoughts 
towards the National Amateur Championship which 
was to be played that year at the Chicago Golf Club at 
Wheaton. It was only about a week before the tourney 
was scheduled to begin that fire destroyed the clubhouse, 
the Casino alone being saved, but before the flames had 
been completely extinguished the directors had met and 



166 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

voted to rebuild. For the immediate emergency lockers 
and showers were quickly constructed. When the golf- 
ers began to arrive they found a city of tents ready to 
receive them. 

Hostilities began with the Olympic Cup event, which 
took place on August 31. The Western Golf Association 
had selected D. E. Sawyer, Warren Wood, Kenneth 
Edwards and myself to represent it, and Paul Hunter, 
Robert Hunter, Willie Howland and Mason Phelps 
formed another team called the Second Western Golf 
Association team. The latter team led by one stroke 
on the first eighteen holes, but at the finish the Western 
team led with 629, the Second Western had 636, and 
the Metropolitan, 645. I had led the event with a new 
competition record, 72 — 74 — 146. Robert Hunter 
came second with 155. 

This 1912 Amateur has been called the " torrid 
championship." Never have I known a whole week 
of such weather in Chicago. The date had originally 
been set for July, a pleasant month, but some of the 
prospective visitors thought Chicago in July would be 
too hot, and accordingly the time was changed to that 
broiling September week. 

When the British players arrived two of them looked 
particularly formidable. One was Harold Hilton, who 
was defending his title, and the other Norman Hunter, 
who had made a long-standing record over the Chicago 
Golf course when he had come over with the Oxford 
and Cambridge team. 

Mr. Hilton and I led the first half of the qualifying 
round with 74 's. In the second half, oddly enough, he 
was playing just in front of me. It was not long before 



My Second Western Title 167 

it became apparent to the gallery that one of us would 
win the low qualifying medal. I was finding the round 
very trying because I knew with every shot just what 
Mr. Hilton was doing. 

On the eighteenth hole I pulled my tee shot into a 
sort of seam in the midst of grass-grown cop bunkers. It 
seemed an impossible lie for anyone except a left-hander, 
and I do not happen to be one. While studying the 
situation I was informed that Mr. Hilton had finished 
with a 78, and I had three strokes to tie. Fortunately 
there was a polo field near by, and apparently my only 
play was over into it, at right angle to the hole. This 
gave me a good lie, but when I reached my ball I found 
that I was stymied by a tall tree. I have never been 
quite sure how I managed to do it, but I played a beau- 
tiful shot directly over the tree to within ten feet of 
the cup, and I holed my putt. I had tied the great 
Hilton! 

Carl Devol, our Riverside golfer, had led with a splen- 
did 73 for the first eighteen holes, but he fell down on 
the second half. Heinrich Schmidt, Fred Herreshoff 
and H. W. Perrin were tied for last place and Schmidt 
won in the play-off. 

In the 1912 National the players qualified at 36 holes 
on Monday, thus eliminating the much-dreaded 18-hole 
first match play round. But we had only exchanged 
one trouble for another, for worse even than the short 
round was the terrific heat that settled down upon us. 

It is probable that the heat was responsible for Her- 
reshoff 's failure to qualify, but Mr. Hilton was the first 
undeniable victim. Even had he been accustomed to 
the weather he was not dressed for it. I know from my 



168 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

experience at Prestwick that British tweeds are not 
intended to be worn in warm weather, and the torrid 
atmosphere hovering over Wheaton all through that 
tournament made only the lightest of clothing endurable. 

A waggish golfer caught one glimpse of our British 
visitors on that burning Tuesday and remarked that all 
that they needed for a polar expedition was ear-muffs. 
Notwithstanding our realization of Mr. Hilton's discom- 
fort, his defeat, 2 and 1, by Gilbert Waldo came as a 
surprise, as there was a general feeling that he would 
win the event. Seckel and Sawyer, too, dropped out in 
this first round. 

I was fortunate, however, and defeated A. W. Til- 
linghast of Philadelphia in the first round and Howard 
Lee in the second. Against the latter I played very 
well, making a 73 in the morning and out in 36 in the 
afternoon. In this round Travers defeated Travis. 

In the third round the second Englishman, Norman 
Hunter, succumbed to the heat and was ordered by his 
physician to forfeit his match to "Warren Wood. He 
was one down at the end of the first eighteen holes, and 
was prostrated shortly afterwards. Much regret was 
felt. Mr. Hunter was very popular among the golfers 
of America, and all of us hated to see the weather treat 
him so inhospitably. 

In this round we were all surprised when Hamilton 
Kerr defeated Paul Hunter on the thirty-seventh hole. 

In my third round I defeated Heinrich Schmidt, then 
champion of Massachusetts. 6 and 5. This victory 
brought me to the semifinal and it was the fourth suc- 
cessive occasion on which I had reached that stage of 
the national event. 



My Second Western Title 169 

My opponent in the semifinal was Warren Wood, and 
he had come up a pretty steep road. We were old 
friends, and as a rule closely matched. Only a short 
time before we had met in the Western final, and I had 
won by a single stroke on the last hole. I think, how- 
ever, that Warren, not having to play against Norman 
Hunter in the afternoon, went home Thursday night, 
and made the long journey to Wheaton Friday morn- 
ing. The day was sweltering hot, and we both felt it. 
At the end of the first eighteen holes I was one up. War- 
ren did not play so well in the afternoon and I won the 
match 4 and 3. 

Travers won from Kerr, his opponent in the semi- 
finals, by a comfortable margin, and these respective 
victories brought us together the next day. Until that 
time I had never played in a match round against 
Travers although I have played in a number of medal 
contests and usually I have been the victor. 

Naturally I was slightly excited over the fact that I 
was at last to play in the final of the National Cham- 
pionship. Travers, Metropolitan champion at that time, 
was considered the best of the Eastern players, and I 
was Western champion. I do not think that I was worry- 
ing much over my opponent, for until that match I had 
not had so good an opinion of his game as it deserved, 
and it was the irony of fate that the condition of the 
course, superinduced by weeks of hot dry weather, was 
exactly suited to Travers' game. 

The long night ended, the crowd began to gather and 
the hour for starting came. Herreshoff was caddy ing 
for Travers and my old pal, Mason Starring, was caddy - 
ing for me. The morning round gave me very little 



170 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

trouble. I was outplaying Travers, but he always would 
come in with a good approach and putt and halve a 
hole that I had counted won. At one time I was 3 up. 
His putting was marvelous. Three times in the course 
of the morning round he holed putts of over twenty 
feet. At the sixteenth hole he stymied me, but I pitched 
over and stayed in the hole, which pleased the gallery. 

At the end of the morning round I was 1 up, and 
going well, but I had learned that the man who could 
play a good iron run-up shot, aided, by fine pmtting, 
would have a better chance on that burnt-out course 
than the orthodox player. I knew golf too well not to 
realize my danger under the conditions of the after- 
noon. Any advantage I could have over Travers was 
in variety of shots, and they would not be needed on 
that sun-baked course. 

By the end of the second hole in the afternoon I had 
lost my advantage. Travers was playing a marvelous 
game of strictly iron shots. He used his cleek from the 
tee and he never took a wooden club from his bag the 
whole day long. Why should he? He could always get 
the needed distance by the long roll on the sun-baked 
ground at the end of his shot. This statement might 
appear as a reflection on the Chicago Golf Club course, 
but no surface in the world could have stood the long, 
unbroken drought of that torrid week and maintained 
the characteristics of a first-class course where the golfer 
places his shots and the soft turf holds the ball. It was 
just a matter of the luck of the game. A softer turf 
would have suited me, but the hard-baked course was 
what Travers' game needed and got. At its best no one 
can beat Travers' short game, and that sort of play was 



My Second Western Title 171 

all that was needed on that course that afternoon. But 
the big gallery that had come out to see me win could 
not understand the trouble, and this added considerably 
to my discomfort. 

On the fourth Travers pulled a tee shot. It started 
on its way out of bounds, hit a mound and caromed 
back. The hole was halved. The growing feeling that 
the elements and luck are against one is not conducive 
to a good game. By the time that I reached the ninth 
hole I must have been all " in " for I drove into the 
pond. I think that I have played that hole 500 times, 
and that was the only occasion my ball has tried to 
swim. And Travers was out in 34. 

It wasn 't long before the game was over. I was beaten 
7 and 6. After the usual exchange of congratulations 
I went back to the clubhouse and took the silver medal 
that I had won and threw it as hard as I could up 
against the wall. 

Trains began to bear the people away and dinner 
time came on, but I did not care for food that night. I 
got up from the bed on which I had thrown myself and 
walked in the darkness towards Aurora. My world had 
gone wrong somehow, and even the fact that I was to 
play off with Mr. Hilton in the morning for low score 
medal did not interest me. 

I walked far into the night and I do not know exactly 
what village I came to, but through the woods cama the 
sound of music and it was soon evident that a Saturday 
night dance was in progress. It did not take me long 
to join the dancers. 

The next morning I had my play-off with Mr. Hilton 
and my mother and father came out to see me play. 



172 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Incredible as it may seem my first twelve holes against 
Mr. Hilton would have beaten Travers' fast golf of the 
previous afternoon one up. There ought to be a lesson 
in this for golfers. Good as Travers' game had been, 
my own against Hilton seemed to show that if I had 
not allowed my mind to dwell upon the unfairness of 
a condition that spared every weakness of my opponent, 
emphasized mine, and left half my strength unused, but 
had turned it resolutely to the problem before me I 
would have had a fighting chance. I made a 72 to Mr. 
Hilton's 75. His game was beautiful and well-balanced, 
but he was still suffering from the heat. 

The victory gave me the National Amateur low-quali- 
fying medal for the second time. 

I had written a good many articles on golf for vari- 
ous papers, but I had never written up a championship 
event until this 1912 National Amateur which the Chi- 
cago Examiner asked me to cover. I found it very hard 
work and I fear the public found it hard reading. That 
fall A. M. Lawrence, publisher of the paper, offered 
me a regular position, which I gladly accepted, 



CHAPTER XIV 

TOUKING THE NOETHWEST 

Midwestern golfers on far-away links — East- 
ern critics raise question of amateur standing — 
New records on strange courses — A glimpse of 
Canadian links. 

Sometime during the winter of 1913 A. S. Kerry, 
president of the Seattle Country Club, met a few of 
our Chicago golfers at an indoor school in Chicago. 
He became much interested in them and several times 
expressed a wish that they could meet some of the 
leading golfers of the Northwest. Probably he thought 
that they could do us up. At any rate he wanted to 
see them try, for not long afterwards he sent a formal 
invitation to the Western Golf Association to select a 
team of eight players to compete in matches in Seattle. 
Tacoma and Portland, the visitors to be guests of the 
Northwestern clubs from the time they left their homes 
until their return. Prior to this Mr. Kerry had talked 
informally with the officials and his proposition had 
been enthusiastically received. 

I don't know whether the matter was ever formally 
voted upon by the Western Golf Association, but one 
of the officials wrote to me asking if I would play on 
the team. The same official invited seven other play- 
ers, and all accepted. Of course it is possible that all 

173 



274 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

this was done by a committee and not by a formal 
vote of the Association. 

June 6 was the time selected for our trip, for then 
the grass is greenest, the skies bluest, and .all nature 
superlatively beautiful in the Northwest. This we were 
told and the statement was more than verified in the 
happy days that soon followed. 

All went well until a week or so before the time for 
us to leave, when some California clubs sent an invita- 
tion to the Western Golf Association asking the Mid- 
western team to visit California on its return. The mem- 
bers of our team were mostly young men, and the new 
idea seemed delightful, but the Northwestern people 
objected strenuously. I can now see that they were 
entirely right. The idea of the team matches was 
theirs, we were to be their guests and we had no right 
to use their hospitality as a means to a California pleas- 
ure trip. 

A peculiar situation then developed. All the mem- 
bers of the team whose nomination had been requested 
as a sine qua non by both California and the North- 
west agreed that we should either accept the North- 
western invitation as it stood or drop the whole matter, 
but the new players refused to go unless California was 
included in the itinerary. By this time the W. G. A. 
was apparently tired of the squabble and felt that it 
could not afford to offend its California members, and 
dropped out. The original members of the team felt 
that they were in honor bound to keep faith with the 
Northwest, and they kept in. 

The vacancies in the team were easily filled, and we 
departed on our way without the W. G. A. official who 



Touring the Northwest 175 

was to have accompanied us, but with the expressed 
personal good wishes of the president of the Associa- 
tion. While we were on the coast, however, an Eastern 
newspaper took up the matter and expressed grave 
doubts as to our amateur standing. The unfailing solici- 
tude of the Eastern golf writers for the amateur purity 
of the young Western players is, considering the uni- 
formly good character of these players, one of the mar- 
vels of golf. 

I determined to call this collection of young golfers, 
who were to make the Northwestern trip, the Midwest- 
ern Team, and as finally selected it was composed of 
Warren Wood, D. E. Sawyer, Praser Hale, Carl Devol 
and myself of Chicago, Howard Lee of Detroit, 
Philip Stanton of Grand Rapids, and Harry Legg 
of Minneapolis. 

Mr. Kerry kept, with double measure, all his prom- 
ises to us. Most of the time our party had a private 
car, with C. A. Matthews, a Northern Pacific official, 
helping us with arrangements after leaving Minneap- 
olis. Howard Lee and Phil Stanton joined the party 
in Chicago, and we picked up Harry Legg at the Twin 
Cities, where we were scheduled for our first matches. 
We had an interesting match against a team of St. Paul 
golfers, Warren Wood making the best round — a 72. 
We drove over the big bridge spanning the Mississippi 
to the Interlachen links, where we had more games and 
enjoyed much hospitality. 

The next match on our program was at Butte, Mon- 
tana, the most extraordinary place I had ever seen, 
black, rocky, and almost terrifying in its lack of vege- 
tation. We were met by Dr. McCrimmon, Mr. Barker 



176 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

and a most hospitable committee. We found the golf 
course apparently walled in by mountains, with tower- 
ing snow-capped peaks to be seen from every tee and 
green. 

There is something strikingly ironic in calling any 
part of that strange links a fair green, for there is not 
a blade of grass on it. The tiny putting greens were 
of sand, and only in the rough were to be found little 
bunches of very tough grass. Although the course did 
not apparently lend itself to finished golf, there was a 
lady champion, Mrs. Earle, who played remarkably, and 
in spite of a whirlwind and other queer breezes Ned 
Sawyer distinguished himself with a 72. 

We boarded our train and left the mining city of 
Butte in the midst of its bare, black mountains, only to 
awaken next morning in a beautiful garden spot. It 
was Spokane. It, too, was surrounded by mountains, 
but there were many waterfalls, the grass was green, 
and the fragrance of pine trees was in the air. The 
golf course was a very good one. Warren Wood made 
a 76 — 77, and I broke the course record with a 74 in 
the afternoon. 

From Spokane we went to Seattle, where we met a 
part of the team that was to oppose us in the big 
matches. From there we took a steamer for Victoria, 
British Columbia. We all fell m love with the Victoria 
golf course at once. Never except in England have I 
seen such turf. Warren Wood and I had a great match 
against Captain Chambers and E. V. Macan and we 
beat them by a good margin. We both had 71 's in the 
morning. 

The Northwestern team was composed of Chandler 





Photo by Pietzcker, St. Louis. 

Bobby Jones of Atlanta and Evans, just before the semifinals of 
the Western Amateur at Memphis, 1920. The southern marvel met 
defeat after a hard match. 




Photo by Pietzcker. St. Louis. 

W. C. Fownes, Jr., and Chick Evans, third round rivals in the 
1920 National Amateur at Roslyn, Long Island. 




Photo by Pietzcker, St. Louis. 

Francis Ouimet and Chick, both former caddies, meet in the 
finals of the National Amateur at Roslyn. Experts made the east- 
erner favorite, but Evans won 7 and 6. 



Touring the Northwest 177 

Egan, Jack Neville, champion of California, E. V. 
Macan, Northwestern champion, H. A. Flaeger, better 
known in Chicago as " Dixie," H. K. B. Davis and 
T. S. Lippy. 

It was on June 13, on the links of the Seattle Club 
that the first contest between the Midwestern and 
Pacific Coast teams took place. I played against Chan- 
dler Egan, and broke the course record in the afternoon, 
making a 32 — 37, and beating Egan by 10 and 9; 
Warren Wood defeated Macan by 7 and 6 ; Harry Legg 
defeated Neville 2 and 1; Sawyer defeated Flaeger 3 
and 2 ; Hale beat Matterson 10 and 8 ; Devol beat Kerry 
5 and 4 ; and Stanton beat Lippy 5 and 2. 

That evening at dinner our team presented Mr. Kerry 
with a loving cup as a token of its appreciation. There 
was another interesting incident of that dinner-dance 
— Dixie Flaeger met for the first time the young lady 
who afterwards became his wife. 

The next day we played the Northwest team on the 
Seattle links. I beat Macan 4 and 2; Egan beat Wood 
5 and 4; Legg beat Davis 9 and 8; Lee beat Neville 3 
and 2 ; Devol beat Flaeger 5 and 4 ; Sawyer beat Kerry ; 
Hale beat Lippy and Stanton lost to Matterson. 

We liked the course at Tacoma very much. I made 
a record score of 33 on the first nine in an 18-hole 
match. It was at Tacoma that I met Jim Barnes, the 
great professional, for the first time. He was extraor- 
dinarily popular at the club. The members thought 
that no one could play as well as he. We had a spirited 
match with a large gallery and he confirmed his club's 
faith in him by beating me 3 and 2. 

Our whole team of eight men was entertained the 



178 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

entire time while we were in Tacoma at the home of Mr. 
and Mrs. Chester Thorne. Mr. Thorne was president 
of the Pacific Northwest Golf Association and his home, 
beautiful Thornewood, was situated on American Lake, 
something over five miles from Tacoma. 

At Portland we were put up at the Country Club- 
house, situated on the bank of the Willamette river. Our 
first day's golf there was a medal-play tournament 
which I won with a 72 — 73. In our team match against 
the Northwest team the next day we were defeated for 
the only time, Mr. Kerry and Dixie Flaeger winning 
from Carl Devol and Howard Lee. 

It was a bunch of weary golfers who left Portland, 
the night of June 22, en route for Salt Lake City, where 
we arrived the following evening. The next morning 
we had our matches. Mine was with Armstrong of 
California, who had recently arrived. I won in the 
morning, and he in the afternoon. 

We had no time to tarry at the Mormon city, but 
hurried on to Colorado Springs. The local team there 
was composed of Mr. Hubbell, Mr. Hagerman, Mr. 
Broad, Mr. Davis, Mr. Randall, Mr. Jones, Mr. Hem- 
ming and Mr. Taylor. We won every match. Mr. 
Woodward, vice-president of the Western Golf Asso- 
ciation, come down from Denver to tell us what a mistake 
we had made in going on this trip. Much as we respected 
him and his judgment we had had too good a time, and 
were in too good company, to be convinced of any error. 

We arrived in Kansas City June 26, after the hottest 
and weariest day I had ever spent on a railroad train, 
but the cordiality of our welcome cheered the fagged- 
out team. J. C. Fennell was most active in our enter- 



Touring the Northwest 17^ 

tainment and I was among the fortunate number who 
stayed at his home. 

Our first match was at the Evanston Golf Club where, 
notwithstanding the heat and fatigue, "Warren Wood 
played magnificently, making two scores of 72 — 72 and 
winning a handsome diamond stickpin. I was second, 
Legg third, and Sawyer fourth. The members of the 
opposing team were Ray Thorne, D. Miller, Mr. Rob- 
erts, Mr. Johnston, Dr. Logan, Mr. Hodge and Mr. 
Morrison. 

The next day we played at the Kansas City Country 
Club, and here Ned Sawyer won the honors, the tangible 
evidence being a handsome silver cup. Here our team 
divided. Warren Wood, Ned Sawyer and Carl Devol 
departed for home and business, the rest of us going 
to Omaha for another match. After some interesting 
golf the rest of us turned our faces Chieagoward, end- 
ing the most remarkable trip ever taken by young 
golfers. 



CHAPTER XV 

THAT " SEMI-FINAL HOODOO " 

Hole in one precedes sensational golf in West- 
ern Amateur — Low qualifying medal in National 
for third time — Francis Ouimet wins the Open 
Championship. 

The Western Amateur Championship of 1913 was 
awarded to the Homewood, now Flossmoor, Country 
Club, and began on July 21. There was an exception- 
ally fine entry list, of, I think, about 150 golfers. 

The championship was preceded by an Olympic Cup 
event in which five teams competed. The Western Golf 
Association team, consisting of Warren Wood, Kenneth 
P. Edwards, Willie Howland, Jr. and the writer, won 
the cup with a total of 628. Warren had 150, I 154, 
and Edwards and Howland something over 160. 

In the qualifying round I played with Mason Phelps 
and he, Warren Wood and Paul Hunter tied with a 77 
for low score on the first 18 holes. I was one stroke 
behind. It was not particularly good golf. 

The second 18 holes in the qualifying round was 
interesting to me. Mason Phelps and I had hardly 
moved off the first green when a ball came trickling 
onto it and meandered gently into the hole. It was 
hard to realize that it had come from the tee 290 yards 
away, and that the driving force behind it was E. P. 

180 



That " Semi-Final Hoodoo " 181 

Allis of Milwaukee. That hole is one I consider one of 
the most remarkable happenings within my personal 
knowledge of golf, and it was but a forerunner of a 
whole w r eek of extraordinary golf. 

Mason Phelps played magnificently in the afternoon, 
going out in 35, and I felt sure that he would win the 
low score. Strangely enough, I began to creep up on 
him, and he began to slip back. At the finish of the 
seventeenth hole we learned that we each had a 5 to 
beat Warren "Wood, and as we were both on the edge 
of the green it looked as if it would be a triple tie for 
low qualifying honors. Imagine then the delightful 
thrill when I saw my ball go into the hole, advancing 
me to first place. Phelps took two putts for second. 
Warren was third. 

Ned Allis was not satisfied to stop with his hole in 
one, but for the rest of the week he continued to show 
us that Milwaukee was very near Chicago, or perhaps, 
more correctly, that Chicago was near Milwaukee, for 
he defeated me on one day and Bob Gardner on the 
next, all of his putts having developed a remarkable 
affinity for the cup. Warren caught him at last in the 
final and defeated him 4 and 3. In the third round 
Warren had had an exciting match with Fraser Hale, 
who carried him to the thirty-ninth hole. Joe LeDuc 
reached the semifinals. 

I was always anxious, perhaps over-anxious, to play 
my best in New York, probably because it was consid- 
ered the stronghold of Eastern golf. Consequently I 
practiced hard for the 1913 Amateur to be held at Gar- 
den City, Long Island. The date was set for Septem- 
ber 1 to 6, and following my usual custom of saving 



182 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

expenses I arrived at Garden City the Saturday before 
the Monday on which the tournament began. 

On this Saturday the first competition for the Ameri- 
can Golfer Silver Club Trophy was played. It was 
competed for by teams of two from the different clubs. 
The trophy was won by "Walter J. Travis and Fred 
Herreshoff of the home club, with a 72. Fraser Hale 
and I, representing the Edgewater Club, came in sec- 
ond, one stroke behind, due to some short putts that I 
had missed. Fraser had played excellently and we 
should have won easily. After this competition I had 
one more practice round before the qualifying round 
on Monday. 

About 150 golfers started in the championship, includ- 
ing two from England and a pair from Canada. 

In the first half of the qualifying round Francis Oui- 
met flashed into prominence with a 75. It was, I believe, 
the fourth time that he had entered the qualifying 
round of the National but on the three other occasions 
he had failed to qualify. It is a record that ought to 
hearten the easily discouraged. At that halfway mark 
Mr. Travis stood second, and Mr. Byers and I were tied 
for third place. The Garden City course measured 
nearly 6,800 yards, probably the longest a championship 
had ever been played on in this country. It was in good 
condition, but lightning-fast around the greens, and 
most abundantly supplied with bunkers. Many good 
golfers were finding it hard. 

I was one of the last couples of the 64 players who 
set forth on Tuesday morning to qualify for the match- 
play rounds. News of scores, however, circulates quickly 
over a golf course, and I had hardly reached the t: 



That " Semi-Final Hoodoo " 183 

before I heard that Francis Ouimet had added a 76 to 
his fine score of the previous day, and was leading Wal- 
ter Travis by a stroke for low honors. As I had gone 
out in 39, it was no wonder that Francis Ouimet was 
already being congratulated for low score because it 
would be necessary for me to finish in 35 to tie him, 
and 35 's were not numerous in those days. I had been 
playing exceedingly well, but had been putting 
atrociously. 

I must have struck a helpful idea at the turn, for 
from there on golf suddenly became easy, and when I 
pitched to within eight feet of the, last hole I realized 
that I was putting for 31 on the last nine. Of course 
I missed but my 32 gave me a new course record of 71, 
and the low qualifying medal for the third time. Two 
weeks later Francis Ouimet was showing the way to 
the world in medal-play competition. 

Mr. Travis came in third. The Chicagoans who qual- 
ified were Robert Gardner, who stood sixth, Paul Hunter 
and Fraser Hale. For some unaccountable reason Mason 
Phelps failed to qualify. 

Twelve golfers were tied for the last 11 places and 
the whole twelve had to play off. It was one of golf's 
little ironies that Heinrich Schmidt, who had played 
better golf in the recent British Amateur than any 
American golfer since Mr. Travis won the British title, 
and who had carried the great Hilton to an extra hole, 
should have been the one out of that, dozen to fall by 
the wayside. It was very hot weather, however, and 
Heine was wearing the British golfing outfit that he 
wore at St. Andrews and all my experience teaches me 
that our climate in August and September demands 



184 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

lighter- weight clothing. Jerome Travers was one of 
those who tied for last place and came in by the skin 
of his teeth. 

My draw for the match rounds was a corker. In my 
first, the short 18, I had W. C. Fownes, 1910 National 
champion, and I defeated him 3 and 1. In my second 
round I met E. M. Byers, National Champion of 1904, 
and, believe me, we had some battle. It was a case of 
complete reversal of form in two rounds. At the end 
of the morning round I was 5 up, for during the whole 
time Byers had seemed unable to putt. Although I lost 
the eighteenth hole it was queerly played by both of 
us for Byers took three putts and I, four! 

In the afternoon Byers' putting came back with a 
vengeance and my lead melted away like ice under a 
blazing August sun. On the thirteenth he holed a 25- 
foot putt to square. It seemed that he could hole from 
anywhere, and although I won the sixteenth he took 
the seventeenth with a forty-footer on a green so undu- 
lating that it made you seasick to look "at it, and it gave 
him a 3 on a par 5 hole. 

We had started late and the shadows of evening were 
beginning to fall as we stood up on the eighteenth tee 
with an enormous gallery behind us and looked across 
the pond at the great crowd massed about the home 
hole. We halved it with carefully played threes, and 
then with darkness gathering the two players and the 
huge gallery set out for the extra holes, every one feel- 
ing the keenness of the competition. We halved the 
thirty-seventh, and on the thirty-eighth, with my sec- 
ond shot but a few inches from the cup, Byers holed 
a ten-foot putt for a half. On the thirty-ninth I won 



That " Semi-Final Hoodoo " 185 

by 3 and 5, after one of the most exciting contests of 
my whole golf career. 

In the same round Mr. Travis defeated Fraser Hale 
on the thirty-eighth hole and Jerome Travers defeated 
Francis Onimet 3 and 2. 

My opponent for the third round was Walter J. 
Travis, " the grand old man " of golf, three times 
National champion. He was considered almost invinci- 
ble at Garden City, and I had many misgivings that 
night. I was beginning to be a little tired of National 
champions, and to long for an opponent of more limited 
attainments. I was going well, however, and led by 
one at the end of the morning round. In the afternoon 
his strength seemed to fail and I won rather easily by 
5 and 4. 

My defeat of Travis brought me to the semifinal 
round for the fifth time. My opponent was J. G. Ander- 
son. I was 2 up at the end of the morning round. My 
putting had been off all day, and neither of us played 
well through the afternoon. I lost the match by 2 and 
1. An incident in the afternoon seemed to shatter my 
concentration although it may have had no appreciable 
effect on the result. We were both on the green, and 
there was a question as to who was away. An official 
was called to decide, but none happened to be following 
the match, and my caddie undertook to do the measur- 
ing. He was nervous and in some way moved Ander- 
son's ball, and I lost the hole on the technicality. It 
was one of those little things that get onto the nerves 
of a tired player and an overwrought caddie, and it 
seemed impossible to get it out of my mind. 

It was a bitter disappointment not to be able to play 



186 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

against Travers who won the championship for the 
fourth time the next day. 

The National Open Championship of 1913 was to be 
played over the Brookline Country Club course fol- 
lowing shortly after the Amateur Championship at Gar- 
den City in which I was playing. Many of my friends 
wanted me to stay over for the Open, urging it partic- 
ularly because I had led the amateur field at Garden 
City in medal play, but I had found it hard enough to 
spare the time from business for play in the Amateur, 
and therefore reluctantly hurried back home. 

At home I followed the newspaper accounts of the 
tourney with breathless interest — the presence of the 
great English " pros," Harry Vardon and Edward Ray 
adding to the importance of the event. When the 
extraordinary news came that Francis Ouimet, a young 
boy, was not only leading the best we had, but tying the 
British players, excitement ran high, and on the day 
of the play-off I glued myself to a ticker. His great 
victory was decidedly a triumph for American youth 
and a record was established that it was thought could 
not be equaled. 

After the Brookline tourney Vardon and Ray made 
a tour of the country. Warren Wood and I were asked 
by the Ravisloe Club of Chicago to play against them 
in an exhibition match, which we did. It turned out 
a good contest with fortune playing into my hands, as, 
although we did not win, my individual score was bet- 
ter than either of the Englishmen's. I mention this 
because in an interview on leaving the country Vardon 
declared that " Evans was the best amateur golfer in 
America." 



CHAPTER XVI 

BACK ON FOREIGN LINKS 

Yankee Golfers flock to the British Champion- 
ship — World's greatest amateur sets a record — 
Puzzle in Travers' defeat — Trying out French 
courses — No brass bands at home coming. 

Early in 1914 I learned that a good many of the lead- 
ing golfers of this country were planning a trip to Eng- 
land for the British Amateur event. The idea, I sup- 
pose, originated with the friends of Francis Ouimet, 
although it was not unusual for an American to 
occasionally take part in that tournament. Ouimet had 
defeated both Vardon and Ray in our 1913 open, and 
it was felt that he should give them a chance at him 
the following year in Britain. As long as he was going 
over he might try for the two major events. There was 
a very general feeling in the East that he would be 
able to make a very good showing. Then Jerome Travers 
and Fred Herreshoff concluded to go. 

Francis, I believe, sailed early in April, and as he was 
young he had a traveling companion, Arthur Lockwood, 
an Englishman who had lived a long time in the States 
and was a well-known golfer. He also was entered for 
the event. The fever spread, and about the middle of 
April, Fraser Hale of Chicago and Harold Weber of 
Toledo sailed. As they both suffered severely from sea- 

187 



188 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

sickness they were rather done up on their arrival on 
the other side. 

It began to appear that the largest American repre- 
sentation ever known in the British Amateur would be 
present at the big event at Sandwich, and I was asked 
by my paper if could go over, play in the tourney, and 
report it. No suggestion could have been more acceptable 
to me, but getting the consent of my firm was not easy. 
Vv T hen it was finally obtained it was with the proviso 
that I make the trip as speedily as possible. 

My mother and I sailed from Boston on the Carmania, 
April 29, and landed at Fishguard, "Wales, May 6. We 
had a rather chilly but enjoyable voyage. Fortunately 
I am never seasick, and there were a lot of interesting 
people on board. Among them were two Scotchmen 
with whom I often played the various games on board 
ship. They kidded me considerably concerning the 
fate awaiting American golfers. When a passing ship 
sent a wireless message conveying the information that 
Francis Ouimet had played rather badly at Sunning- 
dale they slipped a gleeful note under my stateroom 
door apprising me of the fact. It was not all discour- 
aging golf news, however, and the pretty girls of the 
company of Irish Players who were returning from a 
successful tour of the States helped me to forget the 
probability of unpleasantness ahead. They also pre- 
sented me with a " lucky pig," warranted to ward off 
any possible misfortune on golf links or elsewhere. 

After landing we proceeded to London where we only 
remained long enough to get rested when we headed 
for Deal. This town is one of the Cinque Ports, sit- 
uated in Kent, the southeasternmost part of England. 



Back on Foreign Links 189 

The town is impressively old, and the visitor is shown 
the exact spot where Julius Caesar landed centuries 
ago. It was only about four miles by train to the quaint 
little old-world village of Sandwich, the nearest station 
to the Royal St. George Golf course, where the British 
Amateur of that year was to be played. It was a beauti- 
ful green England we saw on that trip from London, 
and flowers were blooming in every dooryard and 
garden. I understood then why Kent is called the 
11 garden spot of England." 

Our hotel, looking out on the water, was next door 
to Deal Castle, a venerable structure surrounded by a 
moat, presenting in its appearance everything that the 
visitors from the new world expected of old castles. 

At the time we arrived in Deal there were no other 
American golfers at our hotel. Ouimet, Hale and Weber 
were still practicing on other courses, but Travers and 
Herreshoff were already at a hotel in Sandwich, near 
the course. A few days later Hale and Weber came 
in and engaged rooms in town, our own hotel being full. 
This was also true of the hotels in Sandwich — every- 
thing was engaged for the tournament — one American 
golfer, Mr. Knapp, staying as far away as Dover. 

I had no time to spare, and I got in all the practice 
I could, but I suffered acutely from the cold, raw 
weather, and only did fairly well in my practice rounds. 
Chilly as it was I enjoyed myself and had some very 
interesting games with Captain C. K. Hutchinson and 
Angus Hambro, Everard Martin-Smith, Lord Charles 
Hope, Hon. Michael Scott and Lawrie Jenkins. It was 
hard work, however, because I was fresh from an inland 
city and my only practice had been over the Chicago 



190 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Golf Club course. I found the glare from the sea par- 
ticularly trying after my work on an inland course and 
the sharp winds added to my troubles. It seemed there 
was every distraction possible. 

The St. George Challenge Cup is the leading amateur 
scratch medal competition in Great Britain. The cup 
was presented to the Royal St. George Club by Mrs. 
W. R. Anderson, wife of the first honorary treasurer, 
and it was made from the first gold ever brought to 
England from South Africa. It is valued at £21. Com- 
petition is for the best aggregate score for 36 holes, and 
is open to all amateur golfers who are members of recog- 
nized clubs. At the time of our visit the holder of the 
cup was H. D. Gillies. 

The first round of competition was played May 14. 
The weather was the best we had encountered, as the 
cold piercing winds, that had been chilling us to the 
bones, had disappeared. 

I considered myself fortunate in being paired with 
John Ball, but I did not live up to my opportunity. The 
best I could do was 80, but it consoled me a little to 
know that Mr. Ball made 79. Francis Ouimet and 
Jerome Travers were paired. Francis, too, had an 80, 
but Travers had a 77, the best score of the Americans. 
Strange to say, his wooden club play was magnificent, 
but his putting was not so good. On the other hand, 
Ouimet was a little weak on his tee shots, but he was 
putting well. Fraser Hale was putting badly and got 
an 82. Harold "Weber had an 83 through faulty iron 
work. Fred Herreshoff, who was out for the first 
time following an accident, made 81, good under the 
circumstances. 



Back on Foreign Links 191 

D. F. Ransom led the field with a 72, and John 
Graham and E. Martin-Smith made 75 's. 

The day following was cooler, bnt on the whole pleas- 
ant. John Graham of Hoylake, the greatest amateur 
medal player in the world, made a 71, and won the St. 
George's Cup with the fine score of 146. It was the 
lowest score by which the event had ever been won. 

The American players' draw in the British Amateur 
Championship event was considered very favorable. It 
stood as follows: 

J. D. Travers vs. C. A. Palmer ; H. J. Topping vs. 
E. W. Holderness; E. S. Knapp vs. A. C. Chadwick; 
C. W. Inslee vs. J. J. Murray; Charles Evans, Jr., vs. 
William Cranston; Fraser Hale vs. W. K. Whigham; 
Francis Ouimet vs. J. K. MacGregor; Fred Herreshoff 
vs. M. St. John. 

Arthur Lockwood drew a bye. His initial game was 
on Tuesday, and his first opponent R. W. Crummack, 
a plus 5 man from Lancashire. Palmer was a plus 4 
man and noted for his fighting qualities. He had been 
Irish champion, and runner-up to John Ball in the 
British Championship of 1907. He took up golf late 
in life and was then about fifty-six years old. Ouimet 's 
opponent, J. K. MacGregor, was champion of the Philip- 
pines, and about sixty years old. 

The lower half of the draw was considered the harder, 
but several of the best British players would have to 
meet each other before reaching the Americans, so that 
on the whole the draw was considered favorable to us. 

Sunday night the report reached us that C. A. Palmer 
was suffering severely from lumbago, and that there was 
a chance that he would not be able to play. He was 



192 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

under a doctor's care, however, and everything was 
being done to get him into condition but it looked as 
if Jerry would have little to disturb him. 

The day of the championship arrived bright and 
sunny, a little windy, the course very fast and sadly in 
need of rain. The Travers-Palmer match was set for 
11 o'clock. Ouimet and I spent the morning quietly 
in our hotel where we had an early luncheon before 
going to the club. When we arrived there we were 
greeted with the information that Travers was 2 up 
and 5 to play, but that both he and Palmer were play- 
ing badly. Everyone, however, at that stage seemed 
confident of Travers' victory but soon disquieting 
rumors flew about and then came the information that 
the two players were all square going to the seventeenth. 
Excitement was now running high and the Travers- 
Palmer gallery had reached enormous proportions. 
There was nothing for the late starters to do but stand 
and wait. 

We Americans were wondering if Travers could rally 
and produce. Most of them believed that he could, for 
they said that it was his custom to do that in America, 
but the noise of handclapping at the seventeenth green 
reached us and before Palmer teed up on the eighteenth 
we knew that he was dormy one. 

In the midst of the most intense excitement, with 
both sides of the fairway lined with people who had come 
from all over the course, I watched both players make 
equally good drives. Palmer played the odd, a critical 
shot onto the green. I looked at Travers, and never 
before had I seen such an expression on his face. The 
" poker expression," as it had been called, had vanished. 




y 



9 






od 



Back on Foreign Links 193 

He played a fair shot, but it was plainly evident that on 
that small bit of green Travers would be forced out of 
the big championship that he had come across the sea 
to play in. The putt he missed, and with it the chance 
for the British Championship. It is true it was a little 
troublesome, a bit down hill and slightly bothered by 
a fence, nothing much, however, for our prince of put- 
ters. It was not his day. 

Often have I tried to find an explanation for this 
defeat. It still puzzles me. Not that Palmer may not 
have been good enough to beat any of us when going 
well, as he was a fine golfer with a fighting record, but 
he was off his game and said after the match : 

' ' I didn 't beat Mr. Travers ; he beat himself. ' ' 

By a generous approximation Mr. Palmer, suffering 
visibly from his malady, was around in 88 or 89, and I 
heard Travers' score approximated at 90. Such scores 
do not represent championship golf. Good as Mr. Pal- 
mer undoubtedly was I can see no reason why a golfer 
of Travers' standing should have been unduly nervous 
or suffered a sleepless night at the prospect of playing 
him. 

It has been suggested that the British courses were 
not suited to Travers' game, and the fact that he was 
deprived of his centre-shafted putter it had been cal- 
culated would run up his score, yet only a few days 
before he had played beautiful rounds on that very 
course, both putter and driver working well. His record 
while practicing in England had been excellent, but 
in retrospect one comes to the conclusion that his wooden 
shots were the weakness of his game ; his long irons and 
his marvelous putting, his strength. He had been play- 



^94 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ing same beautiful wooden shots and putting well with 
his orthordox putter, but possibly, under the stress of 
an important event, his wooden shots failed and he felt 
the need of his accustomed putter. New clubs 
do fail us at critical moments. But whatever the rea- 
sons for his downfall under such conditions, it remains 
an inexplicable happening with each golfer explaining 
it his own way. 

Henry Topping and E. S. Knapp were also defeated 
in the first round; in fact every man entered from 
America, except Arthur Lockwood, who had drawn a 
bye, was swept away from the upper half. Americans 
in the lower half, with the exception of C. W. Inslee, 
who lost to Mr. Murray, were more fortunate: Fraser 
Hale defeated Mr. Whigham 5 and 3, Francis Ouimet 
defeated Mr. MacGregor ; Fred Herreshoff defeated Mr. 
St. John and I defeated Cranston, and all by good 
margins. 

On Tuesday Francis Ouimet and Fred Herreshoff 
enjoyed a day of rest, walking in the galleries while 
the rest of us Americans wrestled with redoubtable 
Britons. I had a very hard match with Mr. Bretherton, 
nephew of C. A. Palmer, the vanquisher of Travers, 
and a fine, determined young player. Hale met the 
young Australian champion, Iro Whitton, last after 
a gallant battle. A. G. Lockwood defeated R. W. 
Crummack, one of the best of the Lancashire players, 
by 1 up on the last hole, and Harold Weber, playing 
beautifully, defeated, by exactly the same close margin, 
another fine Lancashire player, John Remer, brother-in- 
law of Mr. Crummack. 

The day following Ouimet and Herreshoff were 



Back on Foreign Links 195 

expected to play two matches and for that reason they 
began early, Francis' match with H. S. B. Tubbs being 
set for 9:24. I do not think that there was a golfer in 
the neighborhood who believed that the man who had 
defeated Vardon and Ray could be defeated by Mr. 
Tubbs, who, although he is one of England's steadily 
good players, had no big honors to his credit, and little 
if any championship experience. The incredible hap- 
pened, however, and golf critics have been looking for 
an explanation ever since. 

As my own match with Mr. E. W. Scott did not begin 
until 12 :45 I did not reach the course until about 12 :30, 
so that I did not see any of Francis' match but I heard 
that Tubbs played unusually well, and that Ouimet 
appeared very nervous and did not put up his best 
game. He lost 2 down. 

Herreshoff had two brilliant matches, losing unfor- 
tunately to the Hon. Michael Scott on the last green. 
He played a fine game against J. R. Pratt in the morn- 
ing, and his afternoon round was a magnificent display 
of golf. 

Harold Weber also played two matches that day, one 
against K. M. Carlisle and the other against A. S. Mar- 
riott and in both he was successful. In fact the quality 
of his golf in the championship was very good. 

I defeated E. H. W. Scott 3 and 2 after being all 
even and 5 to go. The following perhaps undeservedly 
high estimate of my game appeared in one of the papers : 

" The brand of golf that Mr. Evans displayed in his match 
to-day stands without a peer so far as this tournament is con- 
cerned, and no doubt the American played one of the greatest 
games ever seen on the local greens. He was in superb form. 



196 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

playing with great steadiness and confidence and with few 
mistakes. He is no stranger in England, and there were hun- 
dreds on the course to-day who had seen him play three years 
ago. Those same hundreds marveled at the improvement in 
the cheerful little Chicagoan's game." 

This was very kind, if not over-exact, and I needed 
encouragement. 

America had entered the event with ten players, seven 
from the East and three from the West. "When night 
fell on Wednesday, the third day of the championship, 
only two Americans remained in the competition and 
they were both Western players, Harold Weber of 
Toledo and I of Chicago. Our delegation had been 
headed by an amateur and an open champion. Our 
amateur champion had lost on the first day; our open 
champion, on the second, and various untitled ones had 
dropped each day until only the Western pair remained. 
I doubt if sufficient credit has been given to Harold 
Weber for his playing in this event. 

The game of C. B. MacFarlane, who defeated me in 
the fourth round, was the great feature of that event. 
It was the best golf that I have ever seen and the fact 
that it was played against me was of small consequence. 
Before my match I tried to get a little light on his game. 
He had played in the international matches but there 
were conflicting reports as to his general ability. After 
I had played him I knew that he could justify the best 
that could be said of him and after I had watched his 
game in the afternoon I was equally sure that a less 
complimentary judgment might also be true. 

The day of our match was warm and sunny and on 
my way to the first tee I learned that the weather exactly 



Back on Foreign Links 197 

suited Mr. MacFarlane. It did not take me long to dis- 
cover that it did. At the end of the first nine holes 
he had five threes, a two, two fours and a six, making 
his total 31, a record not only for the course, but for the 
British Championship. When one realizes how many 
great players have played over the Royal St. George 
course, one can see what such a record means. Also 
when it is taken into consideration that the fourth hole, 
which is an easy 4, was played by him in 6, a further 
light is thrown on the match-play game that he put up. 

I was particularly anxious to do well and tried hard. 
I was out in an approximate 36 and was 5 down. Mr. 
MacFarlane won the first hole in 3, laying a full cleek 
shot within three feet of the cup. My mashie shot was 
four feet away, and partially stymied I missed my putt. 
I was never even after that. On the fourth, where I had 
a chance, a bad kick and a slight hook put me in an 
unplayable place in a bunker and after a scramble we 
halved in 6. I was watching for a break but only a 
slip came at the tenth, which I won. 

The eleventh and twelfth were costly to me, but after 
being 6 down, I won the next three holes, only to lose 
4 to 3 on the short sixteenth. The match was over 
before I knew it, and I yearned for the 36 holes of 
match play which we have at home, for my caddie, who 
was fond of figuring scores, discovered that with such 
a game as I played in the morning I would have been 
7 up on MacFarlane 's afternoon game when he was 
beaten 2 up by Mr. E. Martin-Smith. 

In the meantime, whether a few moments before or 
after my sixteenth hole, we have never quite decided, 
Harold Weber was defeated by Captain Hutchinson. I 



198 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

was too closely occupied elsewhere to see anything of 
this match, but I heard that Harold played well. It was 
no disgrace to be beaten by Captain Hutchinson, who 
is one of the best golfers in England. 

There w r ere many interesting matches among the 
Britons that day, and Hilton, Blackwell and Gillies all 
went ,out. Eight players now remained, and for the 
first and only time in my life, I guessed the winner. 
I had seen Lawrie Jenkins play at Troon in 1911, and 
in my article that evening I said that I fancied him 
for the championship. Even the worst of golf prophets 
hits it sometimes. 

For the next two da} r s the tournament was wholly 
British — and Irish, if one wants to be a bit more exact, 
for Hezlet was there in great force. Although this is not 
a history of the event it is interesting to know that 
after the hardest kind of playing on both sides J. L. C. 
Jenkins of Troon, Scotland, and C. O. Hezlet of Port 
Rush, Ireland, reached the finals, Hezlet having beaten 
R. P. Humphries on the last green after a splendid 
struggle in the semi-finals, and Jenkins reaching victory 
in the same round by a hard match with E. Martin- 
Smith. 

All week the weather had been ideal, but Friday night 
it rained. Saturday morning began lowering, and rain 
fell at intervals during the day, but it did not disturb 
the big crowd, or the happy Scots who had come to see 
" Wee Jenkins " win. James Braid had traveled all 
night to be in time for the great match. And, indeed, 
it was fine playing for the last stage of a big tournament 
even though the rain had slowed up the course. 

The crucial moment came at the eleventh in the after- 



Back on Foreign Links 199 

noon when Jenkins holed a chip shot for 4 and won a 
hole that was believed lost. A feature play of the game 
was at the sixth when Hezlet holed out from a bunker. 
The match ended on the sixteenth green. 

The cup was presented on the clubhouse lawn by 
Lord Northbourne, the president of the club. His com- 
pliments to the American players were loudly cheered 
by the British audience. 

We left Dover on Sunday morning by the 11 o'clock 
boat. The passage was rough and I discovered that most 
of the American golfers are not good sailors. We 
reached Paris about 5 o'clock that afternoon, and that 
evening M. Pierre Deschamps, president of the La 
Boulie Golf Club, gave a dinner for some of the visiting 
golfers at the Ritz. The guests were Mr. and Mrs. C. A. 
Palmer, Mr. and Mrs. Sam Park, Mr. and Mrs. A. G. 
Lockwood, Lord Charles Hope, holder of the French 
title, Francis Ouimet, M. Jean LeBlan, of Lille, my 
mother and I. 

Early the next morning Sam Park's car carried most 
of the American golfers to La Boulie. Mr. Park is an 
American citizen who had been living in Paris for several 
years. I had known him in America and he had made 
the trip to Sandwich to see that we reached Paris in 
time for the championship. It was a pleasant drive out 
through Versailles to the club, and the heavily-turfed 
course with its almost solid background of trees looked 
familiar. The first person to greet me at the first tee 
was Arnaud Massy, the only Frenchman who ever won 
the British Open Championship. 

That morning we were all entered for a handicap 
medal competition. This I won, but none of our scores 



200 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

were good. I give them here in order to show the effect 
of the sudden change in type of course upon our games. 
I had 80, Francis Ouimet, 81, Henry Topping, 86, 
Harold Weber, 87, Praser Hale scratched, and Jerome 
Travers picked up after making the first nine in 45. 

The trophy was a beautiful silver cup, and before 
leaving Paris I presented it to Mr. Park's little daugh- 
ter Elizabeth. 

The draw for the French Amateur Championship 
resulted as follows: 

C. A. Palmer vs. A. G. Lockwood ; F. S. Worthington 
vs. Francis Ouimet; F. Ruffer vs. Harold Weber; 
Jerome Travers vs. Charles Radcliffe; Fred Herreshoff 
vs. Edmond Esmond; Fraser Hale vs. W. A. Vagliano; 
Charles Evans, Jr., vs. Henry Topping; E. S. Knapp 
vs. Jean LeBlan. 

The reason Paris fails as a serious golfing centre is that 
visiting players yield to the charm of the city and forget 
to take their game seriously. At a big British champion- 
ship, on courses far from large cities, one thinks of noth- 
ing but the game, and above everything else the con- 
testant is on hand when his name is called, or his con- 
nection with that championship is severed. In Paris 
it is different. 

Instead of going to bed early the night before the 
first French championship round, Monsieur Jean Le- 
Blan, a young golfer from Lille, and I were out rather 
late investigating the somewhat dubious pleasures of a 
supposedly American entertainment called Luna Park. 
Consequently, the following morning, they were waiting 
for us two at the club — Monsieur Desehamps with 
courtesy, Madame LeBlan and my mother with anxiety 



Back on Foreign Links 201 

and our opponents with very visible signs of that ill 
temper and impatience that our conduct deserved. It 
was raw and chilly around that tee. At intervals rain 
fell. 

Under the rules of golf as practiced in Great Britain 
and America we should have been disqualified an hour 
or so before we arrived, but M. Deschamps courteously 
permitted us to play. I was profoundly penitent, know- 
ing Henry Topping, but Monsieur LeBlan was blithely 
unconscious of any wrongdoing. When I reached the 
clubhouse, anxious to atone as far as possible for my 
tardiness, I started on a run down the long flight of 
stone steps, and plunged headlong to the bottom. For- 
tunately I suffered no injuries beyond some bruises and 
a shaking up. 

The long and chilly waiting had not hurt Mr. Top- 
ping's game. As a matter of fact it was very good, 
much too good for me, and after eighteen long and 
trying holes I lost my connection with that tournament. 

Topping continued his good golf long enough to beat 
Jerome Travers in the semifinals. I cannot speak from 
personal knowledge of the match, for I had seized the 
occasion for a little sight-seeing. 

Ouimet got Topping in the final. Neither played well. 
No doubt they were tired. Once more I pondered over 
my luck and wondered why I never met a good golfer 
who was tired or, if he were, his fatigue and my opposi- 
tion had a stimulating effect on his game. 

When the French championship ended I thought at 
first that I would make a hasty sight-seeing trip into 
Germany where I had never been, but instead I spent 
the precious week that I decided to steal from business 



202 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

trying out some of the courses around Paris, and count- 
ing in La Boulie I played over four, the other three 
being Chantilly, St. Cloud and Fontainebleau. 

At St. Cloud I had my first girl caddie, a very athletic 
young woman called Salome. I discovered, after trying 
my uncertain French upon her. that she was English, 
and she chased balls and climbed fences with an amaz- 
ing agility. Previously I had the usual American objec- 
tion to girl caddies, considering the work too hard for 
them, but if Salome was typical of her sex it is not a 
weak one. 

Another course that we visited was Golf de Chantilly. 
situated about a mile and a half from the little town of 
Chantilly. The course, which is long with good sandy 
soil, is considered one of the best around Paris. The pro- 
fessional at Golf de Chantilly at the time we were there 
was the famous Jean Gassiat. known not only as a good 
player, but as an inventor of the large, wooden-headed 
putter. 

Fontainebleau was the last of the French courses that 
I saw and only the word "beautiful " can describe it. 
The road to it, a splendid military highway, is the same 
that the German army traveled in 1871, and here and 
there are the marks of their passage. The course is very 
good ; the soil is sandy and there is a fine turf, excellently 
kept. Scattered all over the grounds on the day we 
were out were many mixed foursomes, a form of the 
game very popular with the French. 

Time passes rapidly in Paris, and after setting several 
dates of departure, we finally booked passage on the 
Kronprinzessin Cecilie, which we were to take at Cher- 
bourg. "We bade a reluctant adieu to Messieurs Pierre 



Back on Foreign Links 203 

Deschamps and Sam Park, who had proved the best of 
hosts to traveling Americans. At the Paris station, 
where we took the boat train, we found Mr. and Mrs. 
Fred Herreshoff bound for the same port, the only- 
American golfers to return with us. 

There was no brass band to greet us on our arrival 
on this side of the Atlantic, but we ourselves realized 
that we had done pretty well abroad. Certainly there 
was nothing in Fred's game in England of which he had 
need to be the least bit ashamed and I don't think it 
was conceit that made me rather fancy my own. 



CHAPTER XVII 

TEIPLE HONOBS IN WESTERN 

Record smashing tourney at Grand Rapids — 
Trailing the " pros " in the National Open — 
Champions clog the way in a draw — Defeat in 
first round kills semifinal hoodoo in Blue Rihbon 
event. 

The Western Amateur Championship of 1914, played 
over the Kent Country Club course at Grand Rapids, 
was perhaps the most successful event in which I ever 
engaged, for I won not only the title, but the low score 
medal in the qualifying round, besides breaking the rec- 
ord of the course in the final. 

There were probably 200 entrants in the event, and 
one who lent great interest to it was Jack Neville of 
San Francisco, who is without doubt one of the strong- 
est players on the Pacific Coast. From Los Angeles to 
Seattle he has defeated almost every golfer of note, 
including our own Chandler Egan. 

On my first practice round on the course I seemed 
to enjoy absolute confidence and I broke the course 
record with a 69. It seemed a good omen. 

On the day of the qualifying round the morning 
dawned beautifully but by 11 o'clock clouds began to 
gather, and from that hour until 2 in the afternoon 
a violent rainstorm swept across the course. Then the 
rain ceased, the wind died down, and a fine golfing 

204 



Triple Honors in Western 205 

afternoon followed on the well-washed course. Golfers 
played with a fine disregard of the weather, but some 
suffered badly. 

In the first round Runcie Martin led with a 72 ? 
Robert Gardner and I being a stroke behind. My 74 
in the afternoon, making a total of 147, gave me the 
low score medal. Robert Gardner coming in second 
with 149. 

I had a shock on the 18-hole first match-play round, 
for I just managed to beat J. K. Bole one up in 21 
holes. It was a close call and my success seemed more 
a matter of good fortune than of skill. In the same 
round Ned Allis beat Robert Gardner, an unpleasant 
little service that he had performed for both of us the 
year before. 

In my next round I defeated Howard Lee of Detroit 
and in the third, with many misgivings, I met Albert 
Seckel. It seemed like old times for we had learned 
our golf together, and he had given me many a hard 
tussle. He had married, however, and been out of the 
game for several years, and to this fact I attribute my 
ability to beat him by a comfortable margin. Ned 
Allis had disposed of Jack Neville in the second round 
and was beaten in the third by Jimmie Standish. 
Here we were at the semifinals, and the odd thing was 
that only two states were now represented — Michigan 
and Illinois. It was Michigan against Michigan, and 
Illinois against Illinois. 

The semifinal match between the Michigan players 
was also an oddity, Standish, the winner, never being 
up until the thirty-sixth hole, which he won. It was 
generally considered that Stanton would win because 



206 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

it was his home course on which he was considered 
invincible. His many friends were so hopeful that it 
seemed impossible for him to lose, but of all the 
prophets in the world the golf prophet is the most 
unreliable. 

My match with Ned Sawyer was brimful of thrills 
and excitement. As a bystander remarked, " Not a 
hole was won except under par." I counted it the 
greatest good fortune that I was able to finish the 
morning round 1 up, for Ned scored a 72 and I a 71. 
The killing pace of the match-round medal play eased 
somewhat in the afternoon, and at the twenty-seventh 
hole I was 4 up, but I only won by 2 and 1. 

In my match with Mr. Stan dish in the final the big 
margin that I held at noon did not represent poor 
golf on the part of my opponent, but a happy break 
of luck that encouraged me to try for medal score. 
Out in 34, 2 under par, and back in 33, gave me a total 
of 67, which is the best golf I have ever played in a 
championship match, and incidentally it gave me a 
lead of 9 up. It is unusual to win low score in the 
qualifying round and break the course record in the 
final. It was the first time in the history of the West- 
ern Golf Association that the medalist had won the 
championship. I succeeded because I was putting, 
and could stick the ball on the greens. To my second 
shots the greatest credit belongs, for when they are 
all right I only need fair putting to win my matches. 

The 1914 National Open Championship was held in 
the third week of August at the Midlothian Country 
Club, which is situated about twenty miles to the south 
of Chicago. More than usual interest was attached 



Triple Honors in Western 207 

to the event from the fact that Francis Ouimet, who 
had just returned from Europe, would defend his title 
and the golf world was wondering whether he would 
be able to repeat his Brookline miracle. 

That year, owing to the large number of entries, 
it was thought necessary to separate the chaff from 
the grain by means of a qualifying round, and it was 
only by the merest chance that I was able to compete 
in the event, as a foolish experiment with a hand ball 
almost cost me qualification. The sprained ankle made 
me somewhat melancholy and the baking-hot, low- 
lying clouds and high winds added to my discomfort. 
It had been a long time since I had played two such 
poor rounds of golf. 

When the first day ended I found myself tied for 
twelfth place with four others, eight strokes behind the 
leader, Walter Hagen. I had been putting badly, but 
I could hardly attribute that to a sprained ankle. 

Francis Ouimet had started well, but he fell down 
rather badly on the last day of the event. Walter 
Hagen got an early start and set a new competitive 
record for the course with a 69. From beginning to 
end he played fine, consistent golf, and he won the 
championship by holing a twelve-foot putt on the 
last green for 290 strokes. The applause for this feat 
echoed over the Midlothian course to me and my gal- 
lery, and spurred me on to a greater effort. I had 
started considerably later, and from time to time the 
word was brought to me that I was gaining on Hagen. 
It was a round of many thrills, and I considered myself 
fortunate to be able to finish second with a score of 291. 
I was seven strokes ahead of Ouimet, who was the 



208 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

nearest amateur. I felt as happy as though I had 
finished first. 

This was the first National Open event in which I had 
ever played, and it was Hagen's second. The year 
before he had tied for fourth place at Brookline with 
J. M. Barnes, MacDonald Smith and Louis Tellier. 

According to custom I practiced hard before the 
National Amateur, my good showing in the National 
Open spurring me on. The championship this year 
was to be played at the Ekwanok Club, near Man- 
chester, Vermont. Of course I realized that it was 
hard for a dweller in one part of the country to win 
a championship in another, but as usual I was optimis- 
tic, and this time I thought that my hopes were based 
on a better foundation. 

There was a large number of Chicago entries, for it 
had been five years since the Havemeyer Cup had come 
West and our players resolved to make a -determined 
effort to place it in a Western clubhouse. 

Jeff Adams had caddied for me at Midlothian and 
I decided to take him East. It would require more 
scrimping on my part, but he was anxious to go and it 
was a comfort to have him around. Our trip was long 
and tiresome, for the Manchester course was exceed- 
ingly inconvenient of access to Western players. In 
fact it was not really convenient to any except the 
New England golfers. 

As usual I only arrived in time for a practice round 
or so before the championship. In my first time 
around the playing conditions gave me quite a shock. 
I felt dazed. The tree-clad mountains towered around 
me, and it was next to impossible for me accurately 



Triple Honors in Western 209 

to judge the distance up to the hole. I can picture 
to myself now the little bit of a white ball flying 
against the tremendous big black background making 
distance — but such little distance ! I realized then that 
I should have come to Manchester earlier and accus- 
tomed myself to the unusual conditions. 

Manchester is a beautiful, quiet spot, just right for 
an ideal golf community. The president of the club 
at that time was Mr. Robert T. Lincoln, son of our 
famous President, and a former resident of Chicago. 

The course itself lies in a valley. There is wonder- 
ful turf, both on the fairway and on the putting 
greens, with the holes skillfully laid out at the base 
of the mountain. On one side the player could hear 
the echoing sound of golf clubs striking against the 
balls, and on the other the ticking of the telegraph 
instruments carrying the story of the strokes to the 
outside world. That beautiful course, though, did not 
inspire me to good golf, for I was seventh at the end 
of the first half of the qualifying round, and I retained 
that position at the end of the 36 holes — the worst I 
had played in the National Amateur qualifying round 
in many years. Other Chicagoans suffered, too, Bob 
Gardner and Willie Howland, Jr., just getting in. 

Once more I was unlucky in the draw. Byers first, 
Travers next, and Travis next was my prospect, but 
I destroyed my " semi-final hoodoo " by dropping out 
in the first round. It was that miserable 18-hole first 
round with which we used to begin our Nationals, and 
I was beaten on the last hole. Mr. Byers was late 
at the tee, but when he did start it was with a fine 
streak of putting. On the first nine holes he took 



210 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ten putts to my twenty. He said that he had never 
putted so well in his life, and I can testify to his skill 
in that department. 

I shall never forget one hole. It was about 400 
yards, and our second shots had to be played over a 
hill. Byers played a magnificent spoon shot, and 
when I went up to the top of the hill to get the dis- 
tance I saw his ball looking as if it were leaning 
against the pin. My heart sank but I determined to 
do my best, and I played a shot that went straight to 
the hole and just inside of his. 

On the eighteenth hole I topped my ball into the 
rough. A friend told me to play short of the ditch, 
and in trying to follow the advice I went in. Experi- 
ence teaches that each golfer must do his own think- 
ing. No one can help him while the game is on. Once 
in the creek I should have lifted with loss of stroke, 
but the fact is that I should never have been in so 
tight a place had I known the course better. My 
chance of a championship went g-limmering, not 
because of a missed shot, but because of a misjudged one. 
This does not mean that I should have defeated Mr. 
Byers, but I should have carried the game a hole 
further. 

Robert Gardner defeated Freddie Martin of 
Ekwanok in the second round and was beaten by 
Ouimet in the third round. 

In the semifinals Travers defeated Travis, and I 
think that was the last time that our greatest golfer 
appeared in the National. Fownes had been playing 
beautiful golf throughout the tournament. The course 
did not affect him as it did us flat-country people. I 



Triple Honors in Western 211 

am told that his match with Ouimet, and which he lost 
on the last hole, was a very remarkable one. 

Immediately after I was defeated I had left for 
Chicago, so that I saw nothing of the subsequent 
matches. Ouimet 's defeat of Travers in the final 
appears to have been foreseen — Travers apparently 
being considerably off his game in the afternoon. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

GOLFING ACROSS A CONTINENT 

Golf in the Golden West — Two title holders 
beaten in one match — Indifferent luck among the 
" pros " — Western champion for fourth time — 
Fortune fickle in the National. 

The 1915 golfing season began rather early for me. 
There was a big tournament to be held in connection 
with the Panama Exposition at San Francisco, and my 
paper asked me to " cover " it. Getting the permis- 
sion of my firm I accepted this assignment. 

It was a pleasant trip, two-thirds across the conti- 
nent, both for my mother, who was my traveling com- 
panion, and myself, who had never seen California. 
As soon as I could get into my golfing clothes on our 
arrival I went out to Ingleside, where the P. P. I. E. 
golf championships were to be played. I shall always 
remember the first hole I ever played in California. 
It was one of those things we golfers dream about. 
Before a curious crowd I made a perfect drive, an 
excellent second shot, and holed my putt for a 3 on the 
400-yard first hole. This was an ideal but not a cus- 
tomary performance. 

The Ingleside course was fair to look upon. It had 
an easy incline, like the gentle slope of a long hill. 
The subsoil seemed to take an iron blade particularly 
well. The course was rather sparingly bunkered, but 

212 



Golfing Across a Continent 213 

to make up for it there was heavy grass, nearly knee- 
deep, on the sides, forming a great mental hazard. 

In the qualifying round a 68 in the opening half 
gave me a record for the course and a big lead for low- 
score honors which I won for 36 holes with a score 
of 143. Chandler Egan came second, eleven strokes 
behind. 

Of the 32 players eliminated in the first round a 
large number were defeated by big margins. In the 
second round Hoover Bankard of Midlothian, who 
played fine golf in this tournament, defeated Robin 
Hayne to the surprise of the Californians. Heinrich 
Schmidt, internationally known at that time, defeated 
Jack Neville 4 and 2 and I defeated Dr. Walters of 
San Jose. 

In the third round I ran up against Heinrich Schmidt 
and was beaten 4 and 3. I had not seen him since 
his fine showing abroad. He was a great little golfer, 
as his 34 for the first nine in the afternoon showed, but 
the thing about his game that disturbed me most was 
his unconscionable slowness. He even looked the 
ground) over for his cleek shots. He made a remark- 
able round, however. Holing out from a bunker and 
sinking a 15-foot stymie were among his marvels. I 
had a 4 — 3 — 4 finish for a 70, but Heine had the same 
figures for a 68. 

Chandler Egan had a peculiar match with Harry 
Davis in the semifinals. At one time he was 4 up, but 
his putting went bad in the afternoon, and he lost. In 
the other semifinal match Schmidt had to come up 
from behind all the way and only won by 2 up on the 
last green. Thus the fortunes of golf brought the big 



214 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

upstanding Davis and the diminutive Schmidt together 
for the final on a miserable -day of cold and rain. All 
day long Davis played an uphill game, really winning 
fey three long putts in the afternoon. At one time 
in the morning Heine was 5 up and he went to lunch- 
eon 4 up. In the afternoon Davis rallied, squared the 
match on the thirty-third and won by one stroke on 
the thirty-sixth. 

On April 24, Jack Neville and I went down to the 
Del Monte Country Club for an exhibition match 
against Walter Hagen, National Open champion, and 
Jim Barnes, "Western Open champion. We won by 2 
and 1, having a best ball of 68, and feeling, as we had 
good right to be, very proud of ourselves. Very few 
amateurs have the luck to beat two open champions 
at one swoop. 

The P. P. I. E. Open Championship was concluded 
on May 2. On Saturday Walter Hagen had run wild, 
making a 66 — 74, and this coupled with his 146 on Sun- 
day — they play their tourneys on Sundays on the 
coast — gave him a total of 286 for the 72 holes. John 
Black of Claremont was second with 294, Harry Davis 
and I tied at 297 for third, and Jim Barnes was fourth. 

A very handsome cup had been put up for the lead : 
ing amateur, and Harry Davis and I concluded to> 
decide our claim to it by a nine-hole match. We had 
a thrilling play-off and I won. Nowhere in the country 
have I ever seen so many trophies as were awarded 
in these tournaments. 

Charles Templeton Crocker, chairman of the Expo- 
sition Golf Committee, put up two cups for an exhibi- 
tion match between Mr. Davis, the winner of the cham- 



Golfing Across a Continent 215 

pionship, and Mr. Schmidt, runner-up, and Chandler 
Egan and I. Chandler and I won by the large margin 
of 6 and 5, Chandler playing remarkably good golf, and 
Schmidt equally poor. 

The amateur-professional events produced some 
interesting results. Hoover Bankard and Harry Davis 
beat Walter Ha gen and Bob Simpson, and E. S. Arm- 
strong an-d I beat F. J. Reilly and Jim Barnes. 

Leaving San Francisco I played at Santa Barbara. 
At Los Angeles I met the late Charles E. Van Loan 
in an interesting match. On our way East my mother 
and I stopped at El Paso, but my first golf was at 
Fort Worth, where I played, rather poorly after my 
long journey. It was an exhibition match at the River 
Crest Country Club. I met many golfers and was 
pleasantly entertained by Morris Berney. 

Soon after I had reached home the beautiful cups 
I had won arrived from the coast, and every one who 
sees them in the trophy rack at Edgewater realizes 
something of the magnificence of the P. P. I. E. Golf 
cups, and the generous spirit of the California people. 

I have always regarded the golfing year of 1915 
as a hard one for me, for I began too early, continued 
too late and literally wore myself out with the game. 
The National Open was set for June that year, muck 
too early for the golfers who had played in the Cali- 
fornia Exposition tournaments. The scene was Bal- 
tusrol — the distance of a continent from San Francisco 
— a course that a British writer ha-d called " a third- 
class inland green. " I, however, considered the links 
a good one, but the putting greens were too tricky 
for visiting golfers. 



216 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I began by leading the whole field, making 71, ar* 
amateur record for the course which still stands. 
Indeed I had reached the last hole with a 4 for a 69. 
That was fine golf ! Then, pleased with myself, which 
was not often the case, I did the most foolish thing 
that any golfer can do — I changed balls in the midst 
of a tournament while playing well. 

It is true that I ended second amateur, ten strokes 
ahead of Francis Ouimet, the 1913 Open champion, 
and but one stroke behind Walter Hagen, and, yet 
it was a bitter disappointment. I know that I should 
have done better, even though I was at the disad- 
vantage of unfamiliar greens and still fatigued from 
my recent journey across the country. 

The 1915 Western Amateur Championship was played 
over the Mayfield Country Club course near Cleveland. 
Yardon is reputed to have called this one of the three 
best courses in the country. My part in the tournament 
was almost an exact duplication of the 1914 event at 
Grand Rapids. I had a great match with D. E. Sawyer 
in the semifinals and I won it through much tribulation 
of spirit. Once I was as much as 4 down, and did not 
square the match until the thirty-second hole. I quote 
from a summary of the match made by a writer at the 
time : 

" Fourteen of the holes were won under par, ten 
taken at par, seven halved in par and two halved under 
par. Thirty-four holes made in par, or better, and 
only two won in figures over par, indicate the very 
high quality of the play." 

There were other notable rounds in that tourna- 
ment. Paul Hunter had won the low score medal with 



Golfing Across a Continent 217 

a count of 150, followed closely by W. C. Fownes 
with 151, which had included a 72, a new competitive 
record for the course. 

The following day I met Jimmie Standish in the 
final and history again repeated itself. I won by a big 
margin, and became Western champion for the fourth 
time. Four times seemed enough, and I determined to 
save my time and energy for national events. Not until 
1920 did I again enter the Western. 

Very foolishly, however, I entered the Western Open 
because it was held that year at Glen Oak, near 
Chicago. I was ill and played badly. The illness may 
not have been the reason for my defeat. 

It was the first time I had played in this event since 
I won in 1910. A day before the tournament I made 
71 in a practice round. The next day, paired with 
Walter Hagen, I played excellently, and putted 
execrably, accumulating 87 in the first round, the first 
time in many years that I had been over 80 in a medal 
round. Two of the strokes were a penalty imposed 
because, in a spirit of levity induced by an avalanche 
of putts, I used the wrong end of my putter and poked 
the ball into the hole. It seemed the only way that 
it would ever get there. I was leading amateur, 
however. 

The next event on my full season program was the 
National Amateur at the Detroit Country Club, August 
28 to September 4. I have heard this called the tourna- 
ment of surprises. To me it was a series of untoward 
happenings. As I was very tired from too much golf 
I decided to make the trip to Detroit by boat. It 
turned suddenly cold, I was chilled through, lost my 



218 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

overcoat en route and contracted a heavy, feverish 
cold. The weather was the chilliest I have ever known 
at that time of year. 

I have almost always been unlucky in the National 
Amateur " draw," but I think that I reached my 
crowning misfortune on that raw day at Detroit when 
the list of pairings was announced. For the first round 
I drew Ned Sawyer, and of all the 31 golfers I might 
have drawn, he was the one I least desired for my first 
round. Francis Ouimet had an easy match. Jerome 
Travers, another, but I had a man who was playing at 
the top of his game, and knew every weakness of mine. 

The lower half, where Ouimet was placed, seemed 
particularly desirable, and I would have given anything 
I possessed for his draw. It seemed the irony of Fate 
that I should have to meet the man who always played 
me so nearly even, while Francis drew the golfer I had 
beaten by large margins in the last two Westerns. Yet, 
the result was practically the same. I was defeated 
6 and 5 by Sawyer, and Ouimet 5 and 4 by Standish. 
On the day of Ouimet 's defeat Travers suffered a like 
fate at the hands of Max Marston. Then Robert Gard- 
ner defeated Marston on the thirty-seventh hole, and 
proceeded triumphantly thereafter to a well-deserved 
championship. 

At the conclusion of the final between Gardner and 
Anderson I was asked to join the winner in a best-ball 
match against Jerry Travers and Francis Ouimet. 
Apparently it was to give the public a chance to see 
the players who had suffered so untimely a taking 
off. The singular thing about it was that the time of the 
championship match was set ahead to permit the best 



Golfing Across a Continent 219 

ball match to be played. It was my triumph. My score 
was 73 ; Travers had 76 ; Ouimet, 77, and Gardner, 78. 
The Eastern golfers and I, of course, had been resting, 
but Gardner's score was remarkable, coming at the end 
of a long championship. 



CHAPTER XIX 

"WINNING THE DOUBLE CROWN 

Change of style aids in winning the National 
Open — New mark set for professional event — 
Champion meets champion in the Amateur — Con- 
gratulation from the trenches — A Hoosier cele- 
bration. 

It was the year 1916 that brought rae all that I had 
ever hoped for in golf and yet several happenings con- 
spired to make the early months a season of gloom for 
me. In February C. L. Allen died. He had been a very 
kind friend in the Old Edgewater days, and although in 
later years he had played more at the Chicago Golf 
Club, of which he had twice been president, I had felt 
his death keenly. 

Succeeding a rather serious illness of my own, came 
the news of the death of Charles L. Hunter. In this 
case there was not the intimate personal relationship 
that existed between Mr. Allen and me, but from the 
days of my earliest competitive golf I had often played 
in the same tournaments with his son Paul, who was 
almost exactly my own age. The father and son were 
inseparable companions, closely associated in my mind 
with the game itself. I had known them through the 
years of my connection with the game. 

There was a bright spot, however. I had not been 
looking forward to the coming season with my usual 

220 



Winning the Double Crown 221 

zest, but in February leading Chicago golfers received 
invitations from Senator Thomas Taggart, of French 
Lick, Indiana, to take part in an invitation tournament 
to be held on the French Lick course, late in March, or 
early in April. I was a member of the Chicago party, 
and although I was sick most of the time, I played well, 
and really enjoyed the event which was an interesting 
one with entries mostly from Chicago, Louisville, and 
Indianapolis. 

I won the low qualifying medal for a good start. 
Sawyer and I came together in the final. I owed him 
something for putting me out in the 1915 National, 
and this time I was more than ready for him. The 
weather was exceedingly rainy, and there were little 
creeks and rivulets all over the course, but in spite of 
the discomfort I went around in 70. Consequently I 
did not have many holes to play in the afternoon to 
win a beautiful trophy. 

My success at French Lick seemed a good start and 
the outlook was taking on a cheerful aspect, but a day 
or two after returning home I was taken ill and had to 
go to a hospital. 

I grew better and left the hospital a few days before 
April 25 when my brother was married to Miss Hortense 
Gowing of Wilmette. On the 29th my only sister was 
married to Donald Jones of Colorado Springs. Wed- 
dings should have enlivened me but I fear they only 
added to a feeling of change. The whole world seemed 
different. 

In January I had attended a meeting of the Western 
Golf Association in which the place for the Western 
Championship aroused a great deal of discussion. It 



222 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

was decided to hold the event in California at the Del 
Monte Club. California deserved the recognition, but 
there was the difficulty of getting golfers there, the 
expense in many cases being prohibitive. California 
offered to bear the expense, but the question of amateur- 
ism arose, and the debate waxed warm. Although I had 
decided to give up Western Championship events and 
confine my competitive golf to the two big national 
events, the selection of California almost induced me to 
change my mind. Had I been in better health I might 
even have done so. Only once before since my first 
venture in 1906 had I missed a Western, and that was 
in 1907 when I had been very ill. 

In practicing for the National Open at Minneapolis, 
after I had regained my health, my putting was giving 
me trouble, and on the very day before I left for the 
North I followed a suggestion of Mr. Ames, and changed 
my style completely. 

I am somewhat superstitious, and when Jack Hermes, 
fresh from Honolulu, offered me a little Billiken he had 
picked up there for good luck, I accepted it joyfully 
and carried it with me to Minneapolis. Remembering 
my own caddie days I took with me a young boy from 
the Chicago Golf Club, Johnson by name, but generally 
known as ' ' Shorty. ' ' He was the best-natured boy I 
ever knew and one of the quietest. He was very short 
and sturdy, and when I was practicing at the Chicago 
Golf Club, he walked there from his home in Glen Ellyn, 
every day, for a long time. He was also inspiring and 
cheerful when I was going bad, undisturbingly happy 
when things were coming our way and he, most prop- 
erly, became the custodian of the Billiken as I never 



Winning the Double Crown 223 

carried anything in my pockets for fear of interfering 
with my swing. The Billiken lived up to its reputation 
for I enjoyed a week of fine golf. One late afternoon 
when I had come in, Jimmie Donaldson asked " Shorty " 
to caddy for him while he played a certain ball. Jim- 
mie 's clubs and my Billiken were good for a 66. 

In practicing over the course I made the good score 
of 73 the first day I was in Minneapolis. The second day 
I played with Jimmie Donaldson in an amateur-profes- 
sional team match. We had a good score and had been 
told that we were first, but just as darkness was falling 
Lawrence Carpenter, a local lawyer, and Wilfred Reid 
came in, the attorney holing a beautiful long putt in the 
failing light for a tie. In the draw we won first place. 

The qualifying rounds were held in two divisions of 
36 holes each. I was drawn to play mine with the 
second division which was another piece of good luck 
for it was better to have three days of 36 holes of golf 
than an intervening one with a chance to get cold. 

Alex. Campbell, better known as ' ' Nipper, ' ' my inter- 
esting Scotch friend from Brookline and Baltimore, led 
the first group with 144. Two amateurs, J. S. Worth- 
ington of England, and Harry Legg of Minneapolis, 
had 146 and 147 respectively. I knew when I saw these 
scores that my work was cut out for me. It was in this 
round, I think, that Louis Tellier made a 70. Hagen 
totaled 149. 

I played my qualifying rounds in the second division 
on Wednesday. I had been paired with Nelson Whitney 
who could not come. Two months later I met him in 
my hardest match of the National Amateur Champion- 
ship, and there is a chance that, had he played with me 



224 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

at Minneapolis, he would have had a good enough line on 
my game to defeat me at Merion. On such slight chances 
golf honors hang. George Fotheringham, a very agree- 
able " pro " took his place. 

An odd thing happened to Jimmie Simpson of the 
Blue Mound Country Club. When he reached the 
eighteenth hole he had 4 for a 69. He got off a fine 
drive, and the ball disappeared completely. It was as if 
the earth had swallowed it. In spite of this misfortune 
he led the day's qualifiers with 144, Tom Vardon and I 
coming second with 145. 

There was one 70 each morning, and Joe Mitchell of 
Bidgewood, N. J., was the fortunate golfer the second 
day. 

The first day of the championship was about the pret- 
tiest June day I have ever seen. It had rained the night 
before, freshening the air and making the always fine 
turf beautiful and gripping. I was paired with serious 
Otto Hackbarth and we had the splendid starting time 
of 9:05, when the greens are untrampled and the little 
moisture catches the ball easier. 

Of course I was anxious to do my best, and I justified 
the good luck that was coming my way, as before I 
realized it I had reached the turn in 32 strokes, a sort 
of continuation of my good golf twelve hours before. 
This surprised me so much that I lost three or four 
strokes on the next three holes, but I finished with a 
70, which tied for low with Wilfred Reid and Joe 
Mitchell. 

The excitement and constant confusion of golfers com- 
ing in every few moments with their scores did not give 
me much time to be amazed over my own good showing 



Or '^tk ^ 

r Jar * 


l# ' ffi^dillB^^B 


„ 


r^P*- 




p . ■ & 

i 

s 



The author has a willing, but possibly awkward, golf pupil in 
Otis Skinner, the actor. 




*'■ 




Miss Alexa Stirling, Women's National golf champion, 1920. 
Her position, incidentally, shows a good follow through with a 
wooden club. It was in front of Miss Stirling's house that Chick 
practiced for the British championship in 1911. 



Winning the Double Crown 225 

in the morning, and as I went out after lunch, before all 
the golfers of the morning round were in, I did not know 
exactly how I stood in relation to the others. I was 
out in 36. It seemed very easy to come back in 33, a 
total of 69, which broke the official course record held 
by Harry Legg. My day's total was 139, partly due 
to good putting. Wilfred Reid came next with 142. 
There was a long string of famous names behind us. 

The last day of the tournament was also the hottest 
and it seemed scorching after the preceding days of 
glorious weather. I was paired with Freddie McLeod, 
the same golfer who was my pacemaker at Midlothian 
when Hagen beat me by one stroke. I considered him 
a lucky partner. I soon found myself struggling in the 
heat and was very fortunate to bring in a 74. Reid fell 
down to 79. Jim Barnes, however, was picking up and 
came in for luncheon with a 71. All through the long, 
hot, struggling afternoon, rumors of marvelous scores 
were flying from player to player. Reid was no longer 
greatly feared, but an unknown field was pressing hard. 
Barnes seemed the most formidable, but at any moment 
any one of a half dozen brilliant " pros " might have 
come out of the heap and rushed past me to victory. 

At the fifty-fourth hole I was still leading by three 
strokes — 213 to Barnes' 216. He had picked up three 
strokes on me by his 71. At the fourth hole in the last 18, 
I had buried myself in the bunker, and the cost of 
getting out, and the three putts I took, gave me the 
biggest 7 of my life. 

There was some congestion at the fifth hole, and I sat 
down at the tee, with my first leisure for reflection — a 
prey to gloomy forebodings, but something said : ' ' For- 



226 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

get it, and keep going." A few holes later I learned 
that my fears had been realized. Owing to that seven, 
Barnes and I were even, but I kept on going at par, 
or better. Barnes cracked a little on the ninth and 
hooked into a trap. This gave me the lead again with 
seven holes to go. 

The twelfth hole at Minikahda is about 540 yards 
long, and twenty or more yards in front of the green 
there is a creek. At the time I did not know to a cer- 
tainty what Barnes' score was, but I was confronted 
by a necessity of making an important decision. If I 
carried the creek I could make a 4, and if Barnes and 
I were even, it would mean much. He surely could 
do no better, but he had a great chance to do as well 
as he is a great distance-getter. If I played a little 
short I could make a 5, but if I went into the creek a 
6 would be the best that I could get. I decided to risk 
the creek, and I never played a better shot in my life. 
I listened for the gallery at the green and when the 
encouraging sounds came echoing thrillingly from the 
little wood near by, I was overjoyed. 

In playing matches before a gallery I have fallen into 
the habit of watching the part of it near where my ball 
drops, for that group alone can tell me whether it is 
a good shot. Many a time a gallery directly behind 
the shot has applauded for something that looked good, 
but was not. I had a sloping putt for a 3 but took "my 
4. This twelfth hole performance helped a great deal, 
and the information that Barnes had played the ninth 
hole badly helped more. I swung into the last six holes 
carefully, taking no chances, while the 3 and 4 footers 
for par dropped joyfully. 



Winning the Double Crown 227 

It was a wonderful feeling when I put my second 
shot on the eighteenth green. I had two strokes for par, 
but took three, getting 286, an average of 71% for 
four rounds, which was the lowest score ever made in 
the National Open Championship. 

Later in the evening, after Barnes had come in four 
strokes behind me, there was a rustle about the club- 
house, and we learned that Jock Hutchinson had made 
a 68 in his last round, 140 for the day, and 288 for 
the 72 holes. 

Telegrams for me began to rush in, but among the 
letters of congratulation that I received there was none 
that I prized more than the following from Lord North- 
cliffe, written on July 4, and forwarded through James 
Keeley of the Chicago Herald: 

Elmwood, St. Peters, Kent. 
Dear Mr. Evans: 

I cannot tell you with what pleasure the news of your 
victory was received in England. Some of us who are over 
fifty still play golf, and I happened to be at a club when the 
news came in of your splendid win. The members could not 
have been more delighted had the Open Championship been 
won by an Englishman over fighting age. Your bearing and 
conduct at Sandwich two years ago were recalled by all. Your 
extreme good temper, in face of a freak player's extraordinary 
luck, made a marked impression. 

May I ask you to recall me to your Mother? Yours sincerely, 

NORTHCLIFFE. 

My friends have been many and they have been chosen 
without regard to their station in life. One interesting 
friendship was with George Toon. When I first met him 
he was a waiter at some eastern golf club, and when I 
went to Minneapolis for the National Open in 1916, I 



228 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

found him a head waiter at the Minikahda Club. 
Throughout the week he pulled strenuously for me to 
win, and his liquid celebration in my behalf cost him 
his job. When I next met him he was a steward on a 
dining car on an eastern railroad. 

He had a wife and child, but he was an Englishman, 
and when his brother was killed he determined to go 
to war. He wrote me long letters of his training in 
Canada, in England, and how they started for Prance. 
Soon there were no more letters. One day a casualty 
list came to my notice, and I read : 

" Killed— Private George Toon, 3105824, 8th Can- 
adian Reserve." 

While at Minneapolis I also met an enthusiastic little 
caddie, an exceptionally bright youngster who rejoiced 
over my victory in a markedly whole-hearted manner. 
Two and a half years later, a judge in a South Clark 
Street Chicago police station, called me up and said 
that a boy, who had caddied for me in Minneapolis, was 
under arrest in his court. The judge wanted to know 
if I would go his bail as I was the only person the boy 
knew in Chicago. 

Arriving at the station I recognized him at once 
although he wore, not the dress of the former caddie, 
but the uniform of Uncle Sam. He had just returned 
from France. Would I go his bail? The query was 
superfluous. As the charge was not important, the legal 
formalities and a free ticket were easily arranged for, 
and the youngster who had cheered me so heartily at 
Minikahda was on his way home. 

There was an unusual circumstance connected with 
the National Amateur Championship of 1916, on the 



Winning the Double Crown 229 

links of the Merion Cricket Club near Philadelphia. It 
was the first time since the national championships had 
been instituted that the holders of the two titles dwelt 
in the same city. Robert Gardner, the Amateur cham- 
pion, and I, the Open champion, had been delayed a 
little in setting out for the scene of conflict; he by an 
infected finger, and I by business, but oddly enough 
we happened to pick the same train going east. The 
qualifying rounds of the big event were to begin on 
Monday, September 4, but we arrived only two days 
prior to the start. 

Play for the American Golfer Trophy, a team event, 
was staged as a preliminary. In that competition Robert 
and I represented the Chicago Golf Club, and came in 
third with a 72, not a bad showing for the first time 
over the course. In view of the result of the 1920 cham- 
pionship it may be interesting to state that we were one 
stroke better than Davidson Herron and Max Marston. 

On account of his ailing finger Robert only played 
the eighteen holes of the event, but in the afternoon 
Clayton Ingraham, a former Midlothian member, and I 
played Willie Howland and Paul Hunter of Chicago, 
and I see from notes made at the time that Howland 
played extremely well and the rest of us fairly so. 

The Merion Cricket Club is fortunate in possessing 
two good courses, and in consequence it was able to try 
the experiment of having the qualifying rounds played 
over two courses, thus relieving the great congestion, and 
shortening the time. 

The east links, the Merion course proper, is fine and 
well-trapped with large greens but not so fast, I was 
happy to observe, as the usual Eastern greens. The west 



230 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

course had few artificial hazards, but many natural 
ones, and the greens were small and a bit tricky. It 
was one of those courses on which it seemed easy to 
make a phenomenally small score or an extraordinarily 
big one. I went over it on Sunday and set an amateur 
record of 71. The next day, in the qualifying round, 
I played rather badly, thus justifying my description 
of its qualities. 

When the officials began to write the scores in the 
qualifying rounds on the board a distinct shock passed 
over the spectators, for never have I known them so 
high in a national tournament, for 80 's were plentiful. 
Those who played over the east course in the morning 
finished over the west course in the afternoon and, as 
the big figures were written down, there was much spec- 
ulation over the ability of prominent players to pass. 

The low medal score of 153 was made by W. C. Fownes 
of Oakmont. Max Marston came in second with 155 
and E. M. Byers, another Pittsburgher, was third with 
157. Herron failed to qualify. There were only eight 
scores under 160, and six played off a tie at 167 for 
last place. Out of the dozen or more Chicagoans who 
had entered only four qualified: F. R. Blossom and I 
at 158, Robert Gardner, 160, and D. E. Sawyer at 162. 
John Anderson had a peculiar experience, making a 90 
on the east course and a 70 on the west, safely qualifying 
and shattering my record of the day before. The two 
Atlanta boys, Perry Adair and Bobby Jones, the latter 
a youngster of fourteen years, both qualified. 

When the draw was concluded I found myself paired 
with Nelson Whitney of New Orleans, a man whose 
playing, the early part of the season, had led me to con- 



Winning the Double Crown 231 

sider as one of the strongest contenders for champion- 
ship honors. I knew that a hard day was before me, 
but I was glad to see that no Chicagoans would be 
brought together in the first round. It was the first 
time since I had played in the event that this had been 
the case. 

The first day of match-play rounds was baking hot, 
the course was dry and the greens lightning fast. My 
match with Whitney was trying, both in and out, with 
never more than a hole separating us in the morning. In 
the afternoon, however, the game was more my way, and 
it was a relief when it ended on the thirty-fourth green 
in my favor. It was my hardest match in the whole 
tournament until I reached the final. 

Ned Sawyer had an inch-by-inch match with John 
Anderson, the former losing on the thirty-seventh green 
when he missed a three-foot putt, Gardner did not have 
much trouble defeating John Ward, but a great deal 
of surprise was expressed when Fownes, the medalist of 
the event, went down before Buxton. The latter, how- 
ever, had beaten the Pittsburgher before, and is really a 
very fine player. Henry Topping was defeated by W. 
P. Smith by a single putt that hit the cup, poised on its 
edge and stayed there. But the wonder of the day was 
Bobby Jones, the fourteen-year-old boy from Atlanta. 
His defeat of E. M. Byers, ex-National champion, was 
sensational. Perry Adair also won his match. 

At the end of the day when the slain were all ac- 
counted for we found that half of the Chicagoans had 
been swept away, only Robert Gardner and I remaining. 

On Wednesday Bob Gardner was expected to have a 
difficult mat«h with Max Marston, and Mrs. Gardner 



232 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

had come down from Maine to see it, but the game was 
rather disappointing, for at no time did Marston have 
a chance. It was pleasantly spectacular, however, for 
the gallery was very large, and the golf was well worth 
looking at. 

Bobby Jones went on his victorious way, defeating 
Dyer, who himself is a fine player, by uncanny golf. 
White defeated Kirkby, Hunter lost to Anderson, and 
Ormiston to Guilford, and I defeated W. P. Smith 
rather easily. After our matches Bob Gardner and I 
shook hands with the hope that we might meet in the 
final. The day's weather was fine, gray skies, and less 
slippery greens. 

It was blazing hot on Thursday, but in spite of it a 
tremendous crowd followed the Gardner-Jones match. 
Philadelphia had taken mightily to the little South- 
erner. It was hard on the more experienced player 
because popular sympathy usually goes out to young- 
sters. The Atlanta marvel came to luncheon one up, 
but Gardner played a strong game in the afternoon, 
winning by 4 and 3. 

I had no trouble in my match with Anderson, my 
game was coming right and I defeated him 9 and 8. 

The four left in the semifinals were compelled to play 
under sultry weather conditions. The very ball seemed 
sticky, and never have I found the heat more oppres- 
sive. Gardner was playing Guilford, but I did not see 
any of the match being busily engaged with my own. 
Apparently Guilford never had a chance, and I was told 
that Bob was steadily out-driving the long-distance 
player from Massachusetts. 

In my match with Corkran I lost the second hole, but 



Winning the Double Crown 233 

after squaring that I led him all the way. He was a 
good little player, however, but I won on the sixteenth 
hole in the afternoon, which meant that I was safely 
past the semifinal round. The afternoon had been 
marked by a shower, accompanied by violent thunder 
and lightning and fierce winds. 

When Saturday came the weather and course had 
both been freshened by the rain of the previous day. I 
thought that I had never seen a more beautiful morn- 
ing than when Gardner and I stood at the first tee 
ready for the match which would decide the National 
Amateur Championship. Even at that early hour there 
was a big gallery, estimated at 3000, and this was more 
than trebled before the day was over, for Philadelphia 
is a fine gallery town. 

I began well, winning the first hole in 3, a stroke 
under par. It was a good start, but Robert squared the 
match three times in the course of the morning round. 
I went to luncheon, however, gaily enough, 3 up. At 
the clubhouse a friend from Edgewater summed up the 
prospects with the remark that " Bob Gardner can't 
give Chick Evans three on 18 holes — and win." That 
sounded encouraging, but very early in the afternoon 
it began to look as if he could. 

The gallery had seemed large when we started in 
the morning, but the crowd at the first tee in the after- 
noon spread out in all directions. We made our tee 
shots down a long aisle lined with people. This time I 
began badly, and the hole that I had played so beau- 
tifully under par in the morning I messed up into a 5 
in the afternoon. We both played the second hole under 
par, but by the fifth hole Gardner had wiped away my 



234 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

lead of 3, and it was looking bad for Chick Evans. 
There may have been a little overconfidence on my part, 
but there was certainly good playing on his. 

I won the sixth by a full midiron shot, the like of 
which I had practiced over and over again, dozens of 
times during the twelve years of climb to this oppor- 
tunity. I won the seventh. Gardner took the ninth with 
a beautiful 2 to my 3. On the tenth I holed the longest 
putt — a thirty-footer — that I had ever made in a 
championship. It gave me a half, and I followed my 
advantage by holing a sloping four-footer. 

The thirteenth is only 125 yards. It has a villain- 
ously undulating green with a brook on two sides and 
traps on the other. That day the pin was on the far 
edge of the fast, hard green. If I played safe it would 
give Gardner an easy half. I determined to play the 
psychological shot as close to the flag as possible, know- 
ing that if I got a good one he would be obliged to try 
for a 2. Danger yawned everywhere, and my heart 
gave a tug as my ball stopped a foot from the back 
edge. Bob's went into a trap. From then on it was 
easy. 

The crowd that had swept the course like a mighty 
army all the afternoon had now been increased by the 
people at the clubhouse and they swarmed everywhere 
over to the fourteenth hole, which we halved in 4. 

The end came on the next hole. When Eobert grasped 
my hand in acknowledgment of defeat, some one in the 
crowd shouted: " The double crown for Evans! " 

As we got our medals, in a sort of daze, some one 
pushed my mother forward. She was looking very 
little in that immense crowd as we embraced. A free 



Winning the Double Crown 235 

ride to the clubhouse half a mile away on the shoulders 
of Eddie Moore of Edgewater and others, with a cheer- 
ing crowd following, furnished the climax. 

A paper said that evening : ' ' When a slight, elderly 
woman under whose glasses tears of joy glistened came 
through the crowd, Chick threw his arms about her and 
kissed her and the crowd went wild with enthusiasm for 
it was his mother and all week she had followed her son 
over the course." 

One of the papers called it ' ' the greatest ovation ever 
given to an American golfer." I am no judge of that, 
but I do know that a Philadelphia gallery is a delight- 
ful one. 

When the wires flashed broadcast the news of my 
final victory a deluge of congratulations poured in. One 
reason for the special interest in my success was that I 
had been trying for the prize a long time. Then the fact 
that it was the first time in this country that an open 
champion had ever played an amateur champion for 
the amateur title, made the event unique. Also Robert 
Gardner and I had never before played against each 
other in the national event. Those congratulations were 
as sweet as the victory. 

My victory gave me the proud distinction of being 
the only golfer in this country who had ever held both 
amateur and open title at the same time. In England 
John Ball had won both British amateur and open titles 
the year in which I was born. 

There was another interesting incident. It happened 
that Mrs. Vanderbeck, a Philadelphian, held the 
National Women's Championship and one of our most 
popular pictures taken at Merion was a group called 



286 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the " Three Champions," composed of Mrs. Vander- 
beck, Robert Gardner and myself. 

The day following the tournament, Sunday, I was 
invited by Paul Mackall, a former Chicagoan, to go to 
Bethlehem to play a four-ball match with E. G. Grace, 
Ned Sawyer, .and Paul himself. Tired as I was I 
accepted, and I had an interesting day. It was the 
first time that I had ever met Mr. Grace. It was the 
beginning of a friendship that has grown stronger with 
every year that has passed. Incidentally I consider Mr. 
Grace the greatest all-around golfer among business 
men whom it has been my fortune to meet. 

On Monday I played at Pine Valley, perhaps the most 
difficult golf course in the country, for the first time, 
and that night went over to Atlantic City to join my 
mother and to forget golf. I had been there only a few 
hours when an elderly gentleman sought me out and 
asked me to play a game at the Atlantic City Country 
Club. I had had no chance to rest, but I was glad to 
oblige, and Mr. McSweeney and I played against Mau- 
rice Rissley and Clarence Hackney. We won by one 
up. I made a 72. 

When I at last reached home, somewhat of a wreck 
from the long golf siege that had meant rest neither 
day nor night, I found many interesting letters awaiting 
me. They were from all parts of this country and 
from Europe. Many were from the trenches. One that 
f I particularly prized was from a Canadian friend, A. V. 
Macan, Lieutenant in the 29th Canadians. He wrote 
from a spot very close to the German line. 

There was one very characteristic letter from Henry 
Leach, the rioted British golf writer. There were letters 



Winning the Double Crown 237 

from champions, such as Hilton, and all the good golf- 
ing friends abroad. There was one from President 
Deschamps of La Boulie, Golf de Paris, and along about 
Christmas time one from a former French champion, 
Lord Charles Hope, who was then with the British 
forces in Greece. His card had wandered to the Royal 
St. George Club in England and thence to America to 
find me. 

Soon after my return to Chicago the Indiana Society 
gave a " Fore Luncheon " in my honor, at which I was 
an appreciative guest, but I fear, a poor speaker. They 
presented me with an illuminated testimonial that I 
prize highly. Of course the members of Edgewater Golf 
Club, my own, celebrated in my honor, and presented 
me with a roadster as a token of their appreciation of 
my double victory. The president of the club at that 
time was Mr. E. T. Hendee, and his death soon after- 
wards threw a shadow over what would otherwise be 
one of the happiest periods of my life. 



CHAPTER XX 

BED CEOSS GOLF 

First Red Cross match in Canada — Western 
links turned over to a good cause — " Pros " do 
their full share — Western Golf Association takes 
charge — Eastern players lend a hand. 

Winning two championships in one season realized 
my fondest hopes and exceeded my greatest expecta- 
tions. It is true that I had dreamed of capturing one 
or the other for a good many years, but I had never 
really counted on both and certainly not in 1916. Of 
course I was pleased, but had there been a tendency to 
any undue elation on my part the great war across the 
sea served to chasten me. Golfers who had spent much 
time in Britain and France had their hearts wrung by 
the loss of friends. 

In the meantime for the last two years the whole 
country had been engaged by means of bazaars, concerts 
and other entertainments in raising money for the aid 
of the Red Cross. The part I was to take in that work 
was suggested to me accidentally. Sometime in August, 
1916, between the National Open and the National Ama- 
teur, I was invited by A. W. Cutten, a member of the 
Chicago Golf Club, to go with him on his customary 
visit to his mother who lived at Guelph, Canada, a town 
of about 14,000 inhabitants. The trip meant a game 
at the Guelph Golf Club, and George S. Lyon, several 

238 



Red Cross Golf 239 

times Canadian champion, had been asked to play with 
me that afternoon. I learned then that we were to play — 
how often we were to hear that phrase in the next few 
years — " for the benefit of the Red Cross." 

Mr. Cutten's sisters were much interested in Red 
Cross work and it was Miss Constance Cutten's idea 
that this golf match could be made useful to the great 
cause. There was a big crowd out, a good many wounded 
soldiers among them. No entrance fee was charged, but 
the money was collected through the sale of pins repre- 
senting a soldier in khaki. The crowd bought liberally. 
Individuals, too, gave large sums. It was from this 
comparatively modest beginning that all the Red Cross 
Golf competition of the country grew. I believe it was 
the first of its kind. 

When I returned from Philadelphia I was invited to 
play in a number of exhibition matches, sometimes with 
Robert Gardner, sometimes with other players. And 
we did play a good many at Beverly, at Edgewater, and 
on different courses in and out of Chicago. Of course 
we could not begin to accept all the invitations received. 

These invitations made me realize that many clubs 
were anxious to see me play, and this was particularly 
true of the smaller organizations in remote parts of the 
country where there was ordinarily no opportunity to 
see big games. It brought home to me the fact that 
" this one thing I can do." If the people were really 
anxious to see me play I could use every week-end for 
the Red Cross and carry out in the United States the 
idea that the Misses Cutten had tried so success- 
fully at Guelph, Canada. 

I felt that 1916 was our last year of golfing for pleas- 



240 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ure for a long time and that winter I made up my mind 
to enter no tournaments in 1917. By all the signs the 
day of our participation in the war was rapidly 
approaching. Many good golfers were already training 
at the various camps, and others were expecting to do 
so. Those who could not train had no heart for golf. I 
was not then so situated that I could join a training 
camp, although I had definitely made up my mind to 
enter the aviation service, if I could pass the tests, and 
as soon as I could adjust certain conditions after war 
was declared. For the moment raising money for the 
Red Cross seemed the most practical thing upon which 
I could lay my hand. 

When, in the spring of 1917, war was declared with 
Germany, the national tournaments were postponed. I 
at once announced that I would enter no tournaments 
and play no public golf except " for the benefit of the 
Red Cross." 

My spare time was rapidly engaged. Sometimes 
golfers from Chicago were asked to play with me — and 
how ready they were to respond. On other occasions I 
played the local professional, or the best local players. 
At all times the money was collected by the club from 
the members and sent in as its contribution to the Red 
Cross or Navy League. 

I think my first match of the season was at Glen view 
where Robert Gardner and Jimmie Donaldson, Jack 
Hutchinson and I played for the Navy League. The 
day following we played for the Red Cross at the old 
Evanston Golf Club, Gardner and I being paired against 
two professionals. 

Early in June, Alden Swift, Ned Sawyer and I went 








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proud of it, for he says: "This is an interesting picture, because 
it shows my old grip, which it took me months to unlearn." 



Red Cross Golf 241 

to Exeelsier Springs, Mo. We were to play a Red Cross 
match over the course at the Blue Hills Club at Kansas 
City. It was one of the most picturesque matches in 
which I ever took part. The course is a large plain sur- 
rounded by hills, a sort of amphitheater. The first tee 
is about 25 yards from the clubhouse. As I looked back 
towards it I saw Old Glory waving above the building, 
with the flags of our allies all about. The people were 
solidly banked up to the second story. Governor Gard- 
ner of Missouri, the Third Missouri Regiment, 300 Boy 
Scouts, a military band, Ruth Law, the aviatrix, and a 
large part of the civilian population of that corner of 
Missouri were present. Our match was a four-baller, 
Alden Swift and Ned Sawyer against Tom Clark, the 
Kansas City professional and I. 

Many a time in my life I have driven balls down 
lanes of spectators, but my second shot on the eighth 
hole that day was the first that I had ever sent up an 
avenue lined with soldiers. Another implement seemed 
more appropriate. 

A little later, June 17, Robert Gardner and I played 
against Bobby Jones and Perry Adair of Atlanta, 
Georgia, at Homewood. The Atlanta boys were a great 
magnet for the golf fans, and a crowd of nearly 3,000 
swarmed all over the course. A substantial sum was 
raised. Gardner and I won the match. 

A week later Gardner and I played at Aurora against 
J. Donaldson and George Simpson of Oak Park, 
and a few days later we two played Johnnie Gatherum 
and "Donaldson at the Windsor Club. 

On July 3 two professionals from Chicago, Jock 
Hutchinson of the Glenview Club, Bob MacDonald of 



242 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the Evanston Club, and Simpson of the home club and 
I, played at the Blue Mound Country Club near Mil- 
waukee. This is known to fame as the home club of 
Xed Allis. This match had some very original features. 

Before our game began we gathered around the steps 
of the clubhouse while a member addressed the large 
audience briefly. Then he asked an Indian chief, a 
graduate of Carlisle and Rush Medical, to sing and this 
aboriginal American lifted a clear voice and rendered 
the first verse of the Star Spangled Banner, after which 
every one joined in. He concluded by auctioning off a 
blanket. With it went a good speech. 

While a member spoke for the Red Cross, soldiers, 
sailors, Red Cross nurses and golfers stood with bared 
heads listening. In that city, largely peopled by Ger- 
mans, I encountered one of the most patriotic gatherings 
I had ever met. The match itself was fine. I do not 
think that one of the professionals played a bad shot 
throughout the day. 

A week later I was playing at Minneapolis, at both 
Interlachen and the Minikahda courses, with Harry 
Legg, George Sargent and Otis George. There were 
big, enthusiastic crowds and lots of money for the Red 
Cross. We also had a fine match at Duiuth, a good 
gallery and generous collection. I think that it was 
on this trip that I played at Rockford, and at Grand 
Rapids, Michigan, and probably a little later at Des 
Moines ; at Waveland and Grandview. 

Miss Alexa Stirling and Robert Gardner played 
against Miss Elaine Rosenthal and me in an exhibition 
match July 29 at Onwentsia for the benefit of the 
Navy League. 



Red Cross Golf 243 

Bob MacDonald and I played two professionals, Bob 
Peebles and Donald George, August 4 at a Red Cross 
match in Peoria, a hospitable spot where I love to play. 
It was a very hot day and a very hot trip. I did not 
play well, but MacDonald, after playing badly, made 
a 34 coming in. We were beaten 1 up. 

A few days later I went to Canada to play two Red 
Cross matches for the Canadians — one at Guelph, 
where Miss Cutten originated the work, and the other 
at Toronto. 

At Guelph, where George S. Lyon and I first played, 
we were quite successful once more. After our match 
we motored to Toronto where Mr. Lyon and I played 
two professionals, George Cummings and Willie Free- 
man, over the Lambton course. In the afternoon we 
made a record score — 69 — holing a chip shot for a 
2 on the last hole. There were several American avia- 
tors in our gallery, and aeroplanes were buzzing 
overhead. 

On August 11, over the public course at Jackson Park, 
James Donaldson, professional from the Chicago Golf 
Club and I played against Bob MacDonald of Indian 
Hill and Jock Hutchinson of Glenview. The event 
began with a speech by Judge John Barton Payne, 
president of the Board of Commissioners of the South 
Parks. To him more than to any other man belongs the 
credit for public golf in Chicago, and I think that his 
heart must have leaped with pride at the sight of his 
handiwork. 

On August 16 I went to Iowa for the second time 
that summer. Ned Sawyer and I had been asked by 
the Dubuque Country Club to take part in the event, 



244 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

but an injury to Ned's shoulder kept him at home, 
much to the disappointment of the Dubuque golfers. 
Alfred Peaslee, Dubuque's best golfer, took Ned's place 
as Judge Bronson's partner, and I played with William 
Lawther. Later Mrs. Warren Mc Arthur, Jr., of Chi- 
cago and I played against Mrs. Warren Mc Arthur, Sr., 
and Alfred Peaslee in a mixed foursome. 

Dr. Paul Hunter and Kenneth Edwards of Midlo- 
thian and Robert Markwell and I played an exhibition 
match at the Lake Shore Country Club August 17, and 
in acknowledgment the officials sent a substantial sum 
to the Red Cross. The following day I played at Lake 
Harbor in the morning, making a 71, and at the Muske- 
gon Country Club in the afternoon, where I made 69. 
Jack Alger and I were paired against Jack Wilson and 
Jack Daray, Grand Rapids professional. 

August 25 Lieutenant Praser Hale of Skokie and I 
played against Lieutenant S. Powell Griffiths of La 
Grange and Robert McNulty, who had just entered the 
army and was awaiting orders. It was the first time 
that men in uniform had played in a Red Cross event. 
I was particularly anxious for a good match but it was 
an unlucky day for me. I had been ill in the morning 
but determined to go on. At the fourteenth hole I col- 
lapsed, and was unable to proceed with the game. The 
doctor on the grounds pronounced it ptomaine poisoning. 

In the week of September 21 I played my last Red 
Cross matches for the season, at Akron, Cleveland and 
St. Louis. And it had been a season which to me was 
my finest. 

From the club estimates furnished me approximately 
$50,000 had been raised by our work and this sum the 



Red Cross Golf 245 

various clubs had turned over to the Red Cross, or to 
the Navy League as their sympathies inclined. 

Successful as were the Red Cross matches of 1917, and 
generous as had been the assistance of other golfers, I 
discovered when I at last found time that fall to count 
the cost that the greatest possibility of the work could 
not be achieved by a little group of individuals. The 
success that I saw was not a work for individuals but 
for an association. 

Throughout 1917, and a small part of 1916, I had 
been accepting invitations to play wherever I had a 
spare date. Although I had neglected my business 
right and left it had proved impossible to play at all 
the clubs to which I had been invited because of con- 
flicting dates. In addition railroad fares were in many 
cases unnecessarily doubled because the events were not 
systematically scheduled. Individual efforts meant 
many bootless journeys and much wasted time, strength 
and money. 

Through the autumn I thought the matter over care- 
fully and decided that the chief association of the coun- 
try should take charge of the competition. Accordingly 
I sought out Mr. Miller of the Skokie Golf Club of Chi- 
cago, at that time the only director of the United States 
Golf Association in our city. The day before he left 
for the East to attend the annual meeting of the United 
States Golf Association I sent him a letter asking him 
to present to the Association the plan for a systematic- 
ally arranged season of Red Cross golf. We were in the 
war and there were to be no championships that year. 

I had spent a good deal of time in preparing my let- 
ter, and I was distinctly disappointed when, on Mr. 



246 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Miller's return, he reported that the request had been 
tabled. At any rate nothing more was heard from it. 
I had thought that the little group of western golfers, 
both amateur and professional, had proved already the 
great possibilities of the idea. 

I next went to C. F. Thompson, president of the 
Western Golf Association, and asked him if his associa- 
tion would be willing to take Red Cross golf under its 
care. I explained to him the difficulties in the way of 
individual club management, and the unnecessary bur- 
dens laid upon the players. 

Mr. Thompson was quick to see the possibilities of 
the plan under official management, but he was on the 
eve of departure for California, and the matter had to 
be worked out by correspondence. The moment, how- 
ever, that Mr. Thompson showed his interest in the 
matches I knew that they would succeed. I did not 
trust to anything that I might say but sent to him 
stirring pictures of scenes of our Red Cross matches of 
1917. I followed this up with a letter in which I out- 
lined my ideas. 

I suggested that each club should guarantee a certain 
sum before a Red Cross match was arranged; that pro- 
fessional players be paid their expenses; that amateurs 
pay their own unless these should prove prohibitive. It 
afforded me a great pleasure to offer my own services 
free of expense to any club where I might play, although 
my modest means did not permit me to count on any 
big outlay. Bmt I wanted to do all I could toward the 
cause. 

In regard to club guarantees I suggested to Mr. 
Thompson that public courses be exempt as I knew from 



Red Cross Golf 247 

experience that they would more than contribute their 
share. 

Mr. Thompson's reply was so encouraging that I 
asked C. M. Smalley, secretary of the W. G. A., Crafts 
W. Higgins, assistant to the secretary, Warren Wood 
and several golf writers to meet me for discussion of 
exhibition matches. 

As it was necessary to keep the matter entirely above 
suspicion, it was decided that the W. G. A. should make 
dates, arrangements, handle correspondence, while the 
clubs should manage collections. Our great desire was 
to put the thing on a high plane to keep the game alive 
in war time, and to make a wholesome, needed amuse- 
ment pay a tax for the benefit of the boys at the front. 

Soon after our meeting Mr. Smalley wrote to the 
Board of Directors for their approval of our plan. It 
was unanimous. 

The players responded nobly. Not one refused to do 
his share. The following were named in Mr. Smalley 's 
letters as volunteers : Warren K. Wood, Kenneth P. 
Edwards, Robert Jones, Perry Adair, Charles Evans, 
Jr., Jock Hutchinson, James Barnes, Walter Hagen, 
Robert MacDonald, Phil Gaudin and Gilbert Nichols. 

We were soon making a good deal of headway, and 
surmounting the usual obstacles when, along towards 
May, we realized that we had neglected to get the offi- 
cial sanction of the American Red Cross. We were 
lucky to have in the person of George E. Scott, the 
Assistant General Manager of the American Red Cross, 
National Headquarters at Washington, an ardent Chi- 
cago golfer, and a good friend of mine. So to him I 
wrote enclosing our plans for our tournaments, and our 



248 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

desire to make his association our beneficiary. In due 
time we received the proper authorization. 

The Western Golf Association soon had its hands full, 
for there were many requests for matches that could 
not be given. The great advantage lay in the fact that 
we did not retrace our steps, but when one course asked 
for a match we immediately notified others in its vicinity 
and the events were grouped. The clubs themselves 
soon recognized the advantage of this plan, and in time 
we were making engagements three months ahead. 

The secretarial work was heavy, and ably performed 
by Mr. Smalley and Mr. Higgins. It took a large part 
of any one man's time. But the day of conflicting dates 
was over and the golfers rejoiced in their freedom from 
care. 

Too much credit cannot be accorded to President 
Thompson, who while still in California, closely directed 
our affairs. 

The first Red Cross match of the season was set for 
April 20, at French Lick Springs, Indiana, with Jock 
Hutchinson and I pitted against Gil Nichols and Jim 
Barnes. It was Nichols' idea that we begin at French 
Lick, a big resort course, and accordingly I sent sug- 
gestions to Mr. Taggart. It was rather early in the 
year to get these professional stars together, but the 
French Lick season is considerably ahead of Chicago's 
• — its height being in the Spring and Fall. 

Thanks to Arner Tollifson the course was in fine con- 
dition, but April 20 arrived with a downpour of rain 
that made postponement necessary. By morning this 
valley course was a network of rivulets pretty to look 
upon, but squashy under foot, and when a ball landed it 



Red Cross Golf 249 

received a liberal coating of mud. This meant a wabbly 
ball, but no one minded a little thing like that in a 
Red Cross match, and, although the rain still fell, we 
proceeded to play. 

I must say a word for Hutchinson's game. Despite 
every handicap of weather, muddy balls and pressing 
crowd, it was wonderful, as his medal score of 70 
testified. 

Each player, at the end of the match, autographed 
the ball he had used. These were then put up at auc- 
tion in the lobby of the hotel. The one I had written 
my name on went to Mr. Block of Chicago for $500, 
after an initial bid of $50. Jock Hutchinson's ball was 
sold to Jackson Deering, Jr., of Chicago, for $400, and 
Arthur Joseph of Cincinnati bought Barnes ' ball for the 
same price. 

Nichols was at that time a New York " pro," and 
when the ball was offered Robert Leit of New York 
bought it for $700. He offered it for sale again and 
Jacob Wertheim bid it in for $500. He, in turn, handed 
it back to the auctioneer who sold it to Mr. Romaine of 
French Lick for $500 more. 

Mr. Joseph offered Barnes' ball for auction again, 
and A. D. Geissler of New York bought it for $500. 
This ended the sale of four balls for a record price of 
$3,500. 

Arner Tollifson, the French Lick professional, offered 
a bag of clubs for raffle. They were won by Harry 
Winekin of Pittsburgh, who offered them for sale. They 
were bought by Harry S. Bloom for $650. A dozen 
new balls had been thrown in to make the bidding spir- 
ited. Mr. Bloom offered the clubs and balls for sale 



250 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

again, and they were sold to Miss MacDonald, a pretty 
little girl from Chicago, for $425. As she was a very 
tiny mite Tollifson agreed to cut them down for her, 
and Gil Nichols offered one lesson. 

. Subscriptions followed the auction. Mr. Taggart 
started with $500. I have not room for the long list of 
generous men, but among those from Chicago were 
Leopold Bloom, $500; Harry Strauss, $250; Milton S. 
Florsheim, $250 ; B. V. Becker, $100 ; J. S. Eisendrath, 
$300, and Maurice Rothschild, $200. Among other 
large contributors were George Ade, Ort Wells, Mont 
Stein, A. M. Messing, Dr. Bernard Duffy and E. B. 
Moore. 

More bidding succeeded the voluntary donations, 
with lessons from the professionals being put on the 
" block." Jackson Deering said that he would like to 
bid on some lessons from me. I offered six and he won 
them with a final bid of $300. Then came another rush 
of subscriptions with the total reaching $20,000, a rec- 
ord for Red Cross tournaments up to this time. 

Just one week from the French Lick event Jim 
Barnes and I played against Jock Hutchinson and Gil 
Nichols at the South Shore Country Club, Chicago. It 
rained heavily in the morning, and the wind was pierc- 
ingly keen in the afternoon, but there was a good crowd 
out, and considerably over $2,000 was raised. In this 
match the privilege of caddying for the players was 
sold. Mr. Rammel paid $30 to caddy for me, but one 
hole was enough and he turned the " pleasure " over 
to Robert McNulty who came up from Camp Grant, 
where he was in training. Charles Burras made a fine 
auctioneer. 



Red Cross Golf 251 

Jimmie Standish, who defeated Ouimet over the same 
course in 1915, and I, played against Jock Hutchinson 
and Mike Brady at Detroit, May 6. It was our first 
real weather and it brought out a good gallery. The 
Stars and Stripes floated over the clubhouse and each 
green bore a Red Cross flag. The course, designed by 
Harry Colt, is one of the best three in the country, 
according to Yardon and Ray. More than a thousand 
dollars was collected. 

The match at the Windsor Golf Club, one of the most 
patriotic clubs in Chicago, on May 12, turned out a 
financial success. In the match were Warren K. Wood 
of the Flossmoor Club and I, against Jock Hutchinson 
of Glenview and Robert MacDonald of Indian Hill. It 
was Warren Wood's first appearance in Red Cross golf 
that season, but his name had been written many times 
on the Western Golf Association program, and no player 
that year was more faithful than he. 

A professional quartet, Barnes, Hutchinson, Mac- 
Donald and Jim Simpson, played at the Losantiville 
Club, Cincinnati, May 18, and on the same date Warren 
Wood, Kenneth Edwards, Bobby Jones and I competed 
at Memphis. The second largest collection so far, some- 
thing over $4,000, was collected at Memphis. C. F. 
Thompson, whose guiding hand had been felt in every 
Red Cross event that season, was able to be present for 
the first time. 

The Memphis method of raising money was interest- 
ing. Before we arrived at the club 1,000 tags at one 
dollar apiece had been sold. This provided a neat sum 
in itself. After the crowd had gathered Sam William- 
son mounted the club steps and sold the players. Bobby 



252 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Jones, southern champion, sold for $300 to Mrs. Hum- 
phrey. The auctioneer dwelt on my state of single 
blessedness before I went under the hammer. "Warren 
"Wood and Kenneth Edwards, both with better halves, 
followed on the block. Bobby Jones, up a second time, 
again brought $300. The auctioneer then offered Mrs. 
Humphrey herself, and sold her for $500. 

Warren Wood and I had made an engagement to 
play on the Queen's birthday, over the St. Charles 
Country Club course at Winnipeg, for the benefit of 
the Canadian Red Cross. On our way we played at the 
Northland Country Club, Duluth. F. S. Patton of Win- 
nipeg and I played against Warren Wood and C. P. 
Wilson of Winnipeg. It was a Scotch foursome, two 
points to the hole. Our side won by 5 points. There 
was a large gallery and as about $1,500 was raised, we 
felt repaid for the long, fatiguing journey. 

The next day in the rain, Warren and I played a. 
Scotch foursome before a good-sized gallery at the 
Winnipeg Country Club, at Birdsall, a suburb. My 
partner was Archie Campbell, and Warren was paired 
with E. W. McVey, the Manitoba champion. Campbell 
and I got off to a poor 3tart but we came back strong 
and managed to win 1 up. 

On our way heme. V/'arren and I played at tjie Min- 
ikahda Club, ^iinnea/olis, Minnesota. We were paired 
against Harry Legg and Sargent. 

Olympia Fields is one of the wonders of Chicago' 
golf. Conceived by Mr. Beach and largely brought into 
realization by the untiring efforts of Prof. A. A. Stagg 
of the University of Chicago, the seemingly impossible 
was accomplished. A large tract of ground had been 



Heel Cross Golf 253 

purchased, wholesale work had been done, and, although 
nearly all sports were to be included in the plan, golf 
had been taken care of to the extent of four courses for 
playing and a fifth one for practice. One of these 
courses was now ready to be opened to the members, 
and Red Cross golfers were asked to play the first game 
over the course, which measured 6,733 yards. 

The golfers were Wood and Evans, amateurs, against 
Bob MacDonald and Jock Hutchinson, professionals. 
This seemed a popular combination, the clubs usually 
signifying the players wanted. 

As a rule the gallery goes out to see the game. This 
time it wanted to see the course. The players them- 
selves were, perhaps, even more anxious to see what Chi- 
cago enthusiasm had accomplished, and they appreciated 
the honor of being the first to play upon the course. 

It was an unlucky day for Chick Evans. First, he 
was arrested for speeding, as he had not realized how 
far Olympia Fields was from Rogers Park, his home. A 
great deal of eloquence led to his release. On top of 
this came a " blow-out.' ' In consequence he arrived 
thirty minutes late and the other members of the four- 
ball match were in a somewhat disgruntled condition. 

His own worries were of little moment, however, as 
the event was a great success. It was in charge of Com- 
pany M, Illinois Volunteer Training Corps, Captain 
Chase in command. A generous gallery contributed 
between $5,000 and $6,000 to the cause. 

The Western Golf Association realized that there was 
always a chance that the Western public might become 
a bit fed up with local players and lose its interest 
in the Red Cross matches. For that reason Mr. Thomp- 



254 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

son invited leading Eastern players to help us in our 
matches, offering our assistance in return, and they gen- 
erously responded. Eastern professionals had assisted 
from the beginning, but on June 8, at the Ravisloe 
Country Club, we had a match with our first eastern 
amateurs. Jerome Travers and John G. Ander- 
son. Warren Wood and I played against them. The 
only drawback to the occasion was the fact that our 
visitors were off their game. We, having been " off ' 
quite often, did not mind it, for Red Cross players had 
to expect it. It was a very hot day and they were tired 
by their long journey. On the other hand Wood played 
beautifully, the best of the quartet. 

The event was a big success, approximately $6,000 
being raised. A total of $1,500 was paid for caddie 
privileges. Young Burton Mudge gave $525 to caddy 
for me. David Simon purchased the caddie privilege 
for Travers for $160 and turned it back to be re-auc- 
tioned to L. E. Block for $250. George Bauer paid $160 
for Wood and he, too, was re-sold to J. Block for $250. 
Mr. Greenebaum purchased Anderson for $160. Tom 
Bendelow auctioned off a feather ball purchased in Scot- 
land from Young Tom Morris. It went to Mr. D'An- 
cona for $500, and he promptly gave it back to the 
Western Golf Association for the Red Cross. 



CHAPTER XXI 

AUCTIONEERS ON THE LINKS 

Small club sets a mark in donations — Nation's 
capital turns out and Red Cross prospers — "West- 
ern golfers on eastern courses — Contributions 
keep pace with mileage. 

On June 9 there was held under the direction of the 
Western Golf Association at Lake Shore Country Club, 
Chicago, a Red Cross exhibition event that I shall always 
recall with pleasurable memories. Here was a club with 
200 members which raised $35,000 during one afternoon 
of golf. This set a record for the country at that time 
and I do not believe that any club exceeded it later. I 
am glad to add that the quality of the golf was some- 
what in keeping with the generosity of the club. One 
golf critic wrote: 

" Without indulging lavishly in superlatives it was 
perhaps the greatest four-ball match ever staged on a 
Chicago course." 

In passing it might be explained that the member- 
ship of the organization is restricted to those of Jewish 
extraction. The grounds are located on the beautiful 
North Shore with the fine clubhouse commanding a 
view of the lake. 

The match was well managed, as might be expected 
from those who had demonstrated executive ability in 
wider fields. There was something equally marked in 

255 



256 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the courteous hospitality shown the players. When I 
begin to think of names I hesitate, so many, both men 
and women, assisting in the noble enterprise. Julius 
Rosenwald came on from Washington to become the 
prince of auctioneers. He deftly and artistically 
extracted money from the ' ' congregation ' ' on the club- 
house green, ably assisted by Alfred Austrian. Milton 
Goodman and the Messrs. Block. 

After each hole was played the four balls used were 
placed in a bag and auctioned off. These balls I think 
brought $11,000 or $12,000 and were to be kept among 
the " archives " of the club. The auctions were con- 
ducted with a fine spirit, and it was enough to make 
one dizzy watching the careless ease with which thou- 
sands of dollars were contributed. 

The players in the match were Jim Barnes of Broad- 
moor, Jock Hutchinson of Glenview, Bob MacDonald of 
Indian Hill and I. The scoring on the whole was very 
good, and there were many brilliant shots made. The 
last four holes were played in the rain and we finished 
all even. The scores were : Hutchinson, 69 ; Evans, 72 ; 
MacDonald, 75, and Barnes, 76. 

One of the most dramatic matches of the season was 
played at the Columbia Country Club, Washington, 
D. C, June 15. The contest was arranged by Doctor 
L. L. Harban, U. S. G. A. director for many years, and 
one of the hardest-working friends of golf in the 
country. 

Fred MacLeod and I were paired against Jim Barnes 
and Walter Hagen. The latter pair are always a for- 
midable combination, particularly so when one of the 
opposing force is an amateur. The weather was ideal, 




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Auctioneers on the Links 257 

neither hot nor cold, with a sky soft and hazy, con- 
ducive to good golf and likely to call out a good gallery. 
The publicity part had been well attended to, and 
though Washington is a late-rising city, there was a fair 
crowd early in the morning. Fully 8,000 saw the finish. 

There were many Chicago golfers in the gallery, and 
among the most interested spectators were Judge John 
Barton Payne and Mrs. Payne, at whose home I was 
staying while in "Washington. Donald Edwards and 
Willie Rowland were there in their khaki; in fact, it 
was a great gallery for uniforms, and I think that 
the military dress of every one of the allies as well as 
neutrals was seen there. 

As we reached the sixteenth hole there was a whirring 
sound, and a big aeroplane appeared. The aviator per- 
formed most of the dangerous feats of the birdman for 
the benefit of the crowd, and when his evolutions were 
over, he dropped a bag of New York mail, and in it was 
a letter for me. I am not likely to forget the first letter 
I ever received by the sky route. 

The mateh had been evenly contested up to the thir- 
ty-sixth hole where I had a big inning. I hope that 
I shall be forgiven for mentioning it, even in a Red 
Cross match, because so many golf critics persistently 
declare that I cannot putt. I do not say that they are 
not justified in their statement, but hereafter I can 
always offer this proof to the contrary. Before that 
brilliant gallery extending along the fairway and massed 
about the last green, on that beautiful June day in 
Washington, I holed a 15-foot putt for a win. 

With such a crowd one may guess that the Red Cross 
prospered. For the benefit of future golf generations 



258 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the club had a shield made with pockets to hold the balls 
used in the match, and with a place, of course, for the 
proper inscription. This was placed in the clubhouse 
to commemorate the first Red Cross day in the club's 
history. I feel honored to have had a part in it. 

The very next day Jerome Travers and I, at the Siwa- 
noy Country Club, N. Y., played against Barnes and 
Hagen, the same formidable pair I had just encountered 
at the Columbia Country Club. The amateurs were 
beaten at the fifth extra hole. 

The scores in the match were good, and at the last 
hole in the morning Travers sunk a long approach putt 
to square the match. Raymond Hitchcock auctioned off 
the ball used by Travers for that putt. It went to A. J. 
Mendes for $105. I believe that $3,000 was collected. 
The privilege of caddying for Travers went for $700; 
$125 was paid for me; $80 for Hagen, and $100 for 
Jim Barnes. 

On the same day, at the Westmoreland Club in Chi- 
cago, Miss Alexa Stirling and Perry Adair were paired 
against Miss Elaine Rosenthal and Bobby Jones in a 
Red Cross match. There was a good gallery, and about 
$2,000 raised. On a Monday afternoon Max Marston 
and I were partners against Barnes and Hagen in a 
four-ball match at Merion, where I had won the national 
amateur title in 1916. The course was in good condition 
notwithstanding the fact there were no men working, 
only girls being employed to run the mowers and keep 
the courses in shape — fair proof of the versatility of 
today's womanhood. 

Two matches at Mayfield Country Club resulted in 
divided honors. The first day Warren Wood and I were 



Auctioneers on the Links 259 

beaten by Jim Barnes and Robert MacDonald; on the 
second this was reversed. 

The Sunset Hills Club of St. Louis approached the 
Lake Shore Country Club of Chicago in the matter of 
large golf contributions to the Red Cross fund. This 
club raised in the neighborhood of $20,000 when Warren 
Wood and I played Perry Adair and Bobby Jones of 
Atlanta on July 1. It was an extraordinarily well man- 
aged event. It may be interesting to know that an 
autograph letter from President Wilson sold for $2,000. 

Hutchinson is a flourishing town of about 20,000 
people, situated in Central Kansas. I knew some people 
there, and they invited me to stop off on my way to 
Colorado Springs, where we were to play July 4. 

When Warren Wood and I reached there the town 
was sweltering under a fierce Kansas sun, but the energy 
of its inhabitants was not diminished. Before the match 
started over $600 had been obtained by the sale of tickets 
and small articles. The auctioneer was a professional 
and an interesting local character. He was slightly 
hunchback and must have brought me good luck, for I 
broke the course record with a 33 the first time around. 
And he certainly could get the money. Each time that 
one of us made a hole in par the ball was sold. When- 
ever the bidding lagged he would turn to the service 
flag, bearing a dozen or more stars, and say : 

" See this here flag! Them's the boys over yoitder; 
there ain J t no use talkin ', we gotta bid more ! ' ' And 
they did. 

When all sales were added up it was found that about 
$1,600 had been collected. 

The local members of our four-ball match were Tom 



260 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Griffith, many times winner of the Kansas State Cham- 
pionship, and Emerson Carey, president of the club. 

Independence Day was celebrated in a truly patriotic 
manner at Broadmoor, a wonderful, brand new course 
near Colorado Springs. Almost actually carved out of 
the Rocky Mountains it was formally dedicated that day 
by a match played by "Warren Wood and the writer 
against Jim Barnes, the professional of the club and 
Jock Hutchinson of Glenview. 

Considering its newness the course was in good con- 
dition and the scores made were not at all bad. Although 
a violent rainstorm swept the course with thunder echo- 
ing from the mountains, play was but slightly inter- 
rupted. It was hard on the big gallery but the golfers 
were used to rain. 

In asking for the match Spencer Penrose had guar- 
anteed $10,000, but it seemed no trouble at all for that 
club to raise $12,500. A golf ball, autographed by 
President Wilson, was sold for $500. The rest was 
made up by subscriptions and the sale of tickets. 

The following Monday the same quartet played at 
the Lakewood Country Club of Denver, where $3,000 
was raised. Another ball autographed by President 
Wilson was bought by Tom Botterill for $650. Barnes 
had a particularly fine score, a 68, and he had never 
seen the course before. 

Another week found Warren Wood and myself at 
Pittsburgh, where we played against Hutchinson and 
Hagen at the Pittsburgh Field Club. The amateurs 
were defeated. This was another banner day, over 
$10,000 being taken in. The high water mark for car- 
rying privileges was reached for me, at $1,000. 



Auctioneers on the Links 261 

From Pittsburgh I rushed back to Chicago for a 
match at my own club, the Edge water. It was some- 
thing that we had been looking forward to for a long 
time. First we had hoped to get Francis Ouimet, but 
he couldn't come, and the line-up at last was Evans 
and Hagen against Hutchinson and MacDonald. As it 
was my own club I think it right to add details. There 
was a gallery of about 3,000, and $10,000 was raised. 
Herman Hettler paid $600 for the privilege of carrying 
my clubs ; Mrs. C. C. Kawin paid $250 for forecaddie 
privileges; Hugo Arnold, $150 to caddy for Hutchin- 
son; W. E. Wroe, $100 for forecaddie privileges; C. C. 
Pell, $180 to caddy for Hagen; Mrs. E. E. Keegan, $130 
for forecaddie privileges ; H. E. Bell, $150 for the priv- 
ilege of caddying for MacDonald, and Mrs. Lamb the 
same amount for forecaddie privileges. 

From a golfing viewpoint the scores were good, with 
Jock Hutchinson and Robert MacDonald meeting their 
first- defeat in a Red Cross match. I led with a 72, 
Hagen had 73; Hutchinson, 74, and MacDonald, 75. 

It is generally known that Hazelden Farm, near 
Brook, Indiana, is the home of George Ade, and there 
is a Hazelden Golf Club with nine holes and a pretty 
log clubhouse on the property. This club wanted a 
Red Cross match, and Mr. Ade applied to the Western 
Golf Association for players and a date. The match 
was scheduled for July 18, which happens to be my 
birthday. I also happen to be a native of Indiana, 
which made it seem fitting that I should be one of the 
players. The others of the quartet, Kenneth Edwards, 
Jock Hutchinson and Bob MacDonald, represented Illi- 
nois and Scotland. 



262 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

When we arrived we found a crowd, greater than I 
could believe existed in that whole countryside, await- 
ing us. It had not come entirely to see our game, for 
a much more spectacular performance than ours was 
given by six aviators from Rantoul, Illinois. One of 
these experts was Kenneth Carpenter, well known to 
golf in pre-war days. 

The old friends and neighbors of Mr. Ade gladly seized 
this opportunity to give generously to the Red Cross, 
and about $5,000 was raised, a sum a big city club 
would have been proud of. Ade himself caddied for me 
in the first round. It is true that, like many another 
honor, it held a bit of discomfort, for I am easily 
" fussed " and not accustomed to have such a service 
rendered by such a celebrated individual. I recovered, 
however, by the second round and broke the record of 
the course with a 30. Our match went to 22 holes with- 
out a decision. 

On July 20, Warren Wood and I were defeated by 
Hutchinson and Hagen at St. Paul, Minnesota. The 
match was for the Fatherless Children of France Fund, 
and more than $3,000 was raised. I felt I was really 
doing a worth-while service, up to that time of that 
year I had appeared in matches which had brought 
in something like $170,000, and I was quoted as saying, 
and no doubt it was true, that in the last 28 days I had 
slept in 27 different beds. 

The day following the St. Paul match Oswald Kirkby 
of Englewood, N. J., and Max Marston of Baltusrol 
played Warren Wood and me at the Flossmoor Country 
Club near Chicago. We were defeated 2 and 1. Mr. 
Kirkby 's home-coming in 34 deserves mention, as it was 



Auctioneers on the Links 263 

three strokes under par. The " purse " amounted to 
more than $4,000. 

Stewart Gardner; professional of the Old Elm Club, 
and I played against Jock Hutchinson of Glenview and 
Jack Croke of Exmoor at South Bend, Ind., July 24, 
and we met with defeat. There was a large gallery, and 
more than $1,000 was raised. 

Kenneth Edwards and I competed against the pro- 
fessionals, Frank Adams and Jock Hutchinson, at the 
fine old Illinois town of Galesburg, July 25. We had 
an interesting match and a good deal of money was 
made. " Caddie privileges," our expressive Red Cross 
Golf term, alone sold for $300. The buyers were W. C. 
Hudson of Chicago, Dyke Williams, Henry Hill and 
Otis Goflt of Galesburg. 

On the morning of July 22, Warren Wood and I 
played against Kenneth Edwards and Phil Gaudin at 
the Riverside Club in Indianapolis. Celebrating the 
return to my birthplace, I was able to break the course 
record with a 70, 4 under par. In the afternoon of the 
same day we played another four-ball match on the 
Highland Park course in the same city. Both matches 
were successful events. 

The match at Beverly August 12 had several note- 
worthy features. Jock Hutchinson set a record of 66 
for the course, 4 below par. That was something that 
Adams and I could not equal, but the price paid at auc- 
tion for the privilege of caddying for us broke the 
world's record. Frank Johnson paid $1,100 for the 
chance to carry my clubs, and James Dailey, $2,300 to 
carry Frank Adams'. MacDonald brought $205, and 
Hutchinson $600. The auctioneer was Charles Burras. 



264 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Warren Wood and I played against Jock Hutchinson 
and Phil Gaudin over the public links at Lincoln Park 
August 19. It was the first time that any large event 
had taken place on the course. It was a huge success. 
A crowd of 2,000 contributed nearly $5,000. Sailors 
from the Great Lakes Station held the ropes and kept 
the crowd in order. We found the links exceedingly 
good, almost like a seaside course, having been laid out 
on new land along the lake. It may be of interest to 
learn that the best score made was 78. 

I had planned a short period of rest before beginning 
another series of matches, when one day my telephone 
rang and a voice from the Great Lakes Station informed 
me that I was wanted to play with Lloyd Gullickson, a 
sailor, against Jock Hutchinson and Bob MacDonald 
on the Jackson Park course for the Navy Relief Fund. 
Although Jackson Park had already held two successful 
Red Cross matches, and feeling that even the loyal 
enthusiasts of that course would tire of exhibition golf, 
I replied that if President Thompson of the W. G. A. 
could fit the match into his schedule I would be there. 

Mr. Thompson agreed with me that in the previous 
matches Jackson Park had done its bit, but Lloyd Gul- 
lickson was a product of the public course and he felt 
that his game would have a peculiar appeal for the golf- 
ers there. The young man, scarcely more than a boy, 
had been in training at the Great Lakes Station for 
several months. He was an orphan and had developed 
his game under great difficulties. 

It was a " gasless " Sunday, but, though never a 
wheel of automobile turned that day, the popularity of 
the players brought out the largest gallery in the his- 



Auctioneers on the Links 265 

tory of Chicago golf. While the caddie privileges were 
being auctioned off the crowd spread from the club- 
house, from three to twenty deep, on both sides of the 
407 yards of the first fairway to a close grouping around 
the first green. How those people gave, and how they 
enjoyed it. 

I managed to find time to drop in on " Club Rela- 
tions Day " of the Chicago District Golf Association 
and to listen to a speech of Charles Burras, with its key- 
note of " Give till you are happy." So far it seemed 
that the clubs of this Association had turned in nearly 
$100,000 for the Red Cross. 

Miss Elaine Rosenthal and I played at the Skokie 
Golf Club against Miss Ernestine Pearce and Otto 
Hackbarth, the club professional, Sept. 8. There was 
to be a " Wild West " show and also an aeroplane 
exhibition by Lieutenant Osborne of the United States 
Army Corps. Osborne, before entering the service, had 
been a clergyman, a true " sky pilot." About $4,500 
was collected. It was a generous crowd for there were 
many boys from the Skokie Club " over there." Among 
the best known was Fraser Hale, a lieutenant in the 
artillery, who had sailed a year before, and was then 
acting as an aerial observer. 

The match at Skokie was supposed to be our last in 
the Chicago district. During that week Jock Hutchin- 
son and I played an exhibition match at Cedar Rapids, 
Iowa. We were given for partners in the match two 
Iowa boys, Bob McKee of Des Moines, and Rudolph 
Knepper of Sioux City. They were both under 18, and 
both played a good game. About $1,800 was raised. 

We had a match at the Milwaukee Country Club Aug. 



266 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

3 in which I was paired with Jimmie Standish of Detroit 
against George Simpson and Frank Adams, Chicago 
professionals. Jimmie Standish seems always to have 
a very stimulating effect upon my game and to his pres- 
ence I attribute my good score. A local paper of that 
date mentions that " Milwaukee golf fans witnessed one 
of the most perfect games of golf ever played in the 
city to-day when Chick Evans broke all course records 
at the Milwaukee Country Club." 

When we were asked to play on August 4 at the Old 
Elm Club, near Chicago, I was both surprised and 
pleased, for the public was invited. Never before had 
the doors of this club been opened to outsiders. The 
club had been founded to meet a special need. Almost 
all its members belonged to other organizations, but as 
they were men of big affairs, their time for sports was 
limited. Consequently they could get but little golf if 
they must wait their turn on crowded links. To give 
themselves privacy and time they had built this club. 

The membership was strictly limited, expensive and 
hedged about with all sorts of restrictions, one being 
that no women were allowed either on the course or in 
the clubhouse. These rules may have given a wrong 
impression, but there was no intention of aristocratic 
seclusion but to provide a chance for busy men to enjoy, 
without interruption, their period of outdoor recrea- 
tion. The exclusion of women, very common at British 
courses, was merely carrying out the idea that the club 
was founded for playing golf, and not for the social 
functions of a country club. 

Every restriction vanished on our Red Cross day. The 
public came and. of course, the ladies. I realized then 



Auctioneers on the Links 267 

what the club members had been missing on those links. 
The brilliantly colored sweaters and white dresses ar£ 
a large portion of the picturesque side of golf, and what 
would a gallery be without them? 

Warren Wood of Chicago and I had been selected to 
represent the West in a series of Red Cross team matches 
scheduled for the East to take the place of the National 
Amateur and Open championships. Warren, however, 
who had many responsibilities, could not make the trip 
at the time chosen, and Bobby Jones of Atlanta was 
asked to take his place. He was already in Baltusrol 
when I left Chicago on September 13 for that place. 
There on the scene of the National Open Championship 
of 1915 our first eastern match was played. Our oppo- 
nents were Oswald Kirkby of Englewood and Max 
Marston of the home club. We defeated them 2 and 1, 
for us an auspicious opening on our eastern invasion. 
I had a special reason for rejoicing, for when Marston 
and Kirkby had played against me at Flossmoor my 
side was the loser. 

The match was closely contested, but at no time were 
Bobby and I down. Max Marston 's drives on that day 
were some of the longest that I have ever seen. On the 
seventh hole, 562 yards in length, he was on the green 
in two. Fortunately for us he was not putting so well. 
Kirkby, however, was " sinking 'em " and once he 
holed a long curly putt of about forty feet to win a 
250-yard hole in 2. Bobby and I were doing very well 
ourselves, and in consequence the interest in the match 
held to the end. 

The crisis came at the 460-yard fifteenth hole. We 
were then 1 up. Kirkby and Marston were straight 



268 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

down the course, but Bobby went out of bounds. I 
pulled just over the trap into the rough. My next shot 
I count among the mysteries of golf, for my ball sailed 
from the rough to the edge of the green, and we won 
the hole. We halved the next two and the match was 
won. The collection amounted to about $1,500. 

From Baltusrol Bobby and I went up into Westches- 
ter county, N. Y., to play at the Scarsdale Club against 
Jack Dowling and Tom MacNamara. There the large 
crowd was entertained by the late Clifton Crawford, 
the actor, who made a notable speech in pleading for 
a big collection. Bobby and I were beaten 1 up by the 
two professionals. 

Our next match had been scheduled for Englewood, 
New Jersey, against Oswald Kirkby and Jerome Trav- 
ers. There had been much discussion as to the probable 
outcome of this match, but a heavy downpour of rain 
made it impossible to play on the day selected. We were 
obliged to take the train that night for Connecticut, 
where we played against Max Marston and J. G. Ander- 
son over the pretty course of the Shuttle Meadow Coun- 
try Club. Our opponents were badly beaten, Bobby 
Jones being the bright star of the occasion. 

Early the next day we took a train for Worcester, 
Massachusetts. Although it was raining when we arrived 
we determined to go out to the Country Club and see 
if it were possible to play. The rain had not been severe 
enough to do any harm. It was about 3 o'clock before 
we set out in our match against Louis Tellier and Tom 
MacNamara. The course was fine and it was my good 
day. I made the round in 70 or 71. We lost the match 
to the professionals, however, on the nineteenth hole. 



Auctioneers on the Links 269 

The rain did not prevent the Worcester people from 
coming out. 

The following day, September 22, we played at the 
Brae Burn Country Club. As originally scheduled we 
were to meet Francis Ouimet and Jesse Guilford, but 
the former did not show up and Mike Brady took his 
place. Mike was in wonderful form and made a great 
score. We were beaten 3 and 2, after being 6 down at 
the turn. Oa the conclusion of this match Bobby and 
I departed for our homes, he to Atlanta and I to 
Chicago. 

The Red Cross Golf season was drawing to a close. 
in fact I thought that it was over when I was asked 
to play with Miss Elaine Rosenthal against Alexa Stir- 
ling and Bobby Jones at the Scioto Club, Columbus. 
The two ladies were returning from an extensive Red 
Cross trip in the East. The amount raised, $8,000, was 
an extraordinarily large sum considering that the 
Fourth Liberty Loan campaign was at its height in 
the city. 

On that Saturday night 1,400 people gathered in a 
large hall in Columbus where the returns from the loan 
campaign were to be announced. At the same hour 165 
golfers sat down to dinner at the Scioto Country Club- 
house. Outside the rain was falling in torrents but 
inside there was cheer because the word reached us that 
Columbus had gone " over the top " with a liberal 
margin. 

Our game had all the elements of popularity. There 
was the National Women's Champion, Miss Stirling; 
the Western Women's Champion, Miss Rosenthal; the 
Southern Champion, Bobby Jones, and the writer, then 



270 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

both National Amateur and Open Champion. But the 
golf was not so good as might have been expected. The 
ladies were tired from a long season of strenuous war 
work and Red Cross matches and even Bobby Jones 
was off his game. 

Miss Rosenthal and I were 13 points up. Up, too, 
went our confidence in our combination, for it was the 
third time that we had played together, and with as 
many victories. 

The auction was held at the first tee and at no other 
match in the country have I seen so many people in 
the bidding. The auctioneer was Mr. Karv, mayor of 
the city, and he was at his best. The sum of $4,484 
was realized from the auction of the caddie privileges 
and the sale of the four balls used. The remainder came 
from the sale of tickets. 

On October 13 I was asked to play at the Bob O'Link 
Golf Club near Chicago, for the Overseas Tobacco Fund. 
I was paired with Walter Hagen against Jock Hutchin- 
son and Robert MacDonald. I went around in 67, three 
strokes under the record. President Walter Ross was 
the auctioneer, and a good sum of money was raised. 
This was one of the last matches in Chicago. 

Early in November it was officially announced that 
the Western Golf Association had raised $303,775 for 
the Red Cross. In appreciation of the good work all 
the hard-working officials were recommended for 
re-election. 

I had played in 52 Red Cross matches, 48 arranged 
by the Western Golf Association and four others which 
were played as a matter of courtesy to certain indi- 
viduals or charities. Of the amount raised by the West- 



Auctioneers on the Links 271 

era Golf Association I had assisted in the collection of 
about $250,000. Clubs in the Chicago district had con- 
tributed $89,797.32. The most profitable single match 
was at the Lake Shore Club, Chicago, which cost the 
Red Cross $2.50 in railroad fares and brought a net 
profit of $35,000. 

As the foregoing sketch has been primarily an account 
of my own playing, a reference to the territory covered 
may not be out of place. Lines drawn from Winnipeg, 
Canada, to Denver, Colorado, on the west; to Memphis, 
Tennessee, and the White Sulphur Springs, West Vir- 
ginia, on the south ; along the Atlantic coast from Wash- 
ington to Boston on the east; to Toronto, Duluth, and 
back to Winnipeg on the north, roughly describe the 
limits of the field in which I competed. In order to 
engage in these matches I traveled 26,250 miles. I 
believe that I played every Saturday and Sunday from 
April 23 until October 5 and, of course, many days 
besides. Without the generosity of my firm and the 
patriotic co-operation of many other people these 
matches could not have been played. 

On November 5, Warren K. Wood left for Red Cross 
work in France. He had contributed throughout the 
season, at a great personal sacrifice, all his spare time 
to golf. When that work was ended and the call for 
workers abroad became still more insistent, he concluded 
to give his whole time to the work although he had a 
young wife and two small children. 

Two days after Warren left I received word that I 
had been accepted for aviation service. Previously I 
had been placed in a deferred classification, but it had 
been my intention from the first to enlist if I could 



272 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

pass the tests and as soon as my disability could be 
removed. For the past year I had devoted all my spare 
time to the theoretic study of aeronautics and, after the 
Red Cross golf was over, while awaiting my call, I had 
been making a study of motors at some of the large 
factories of the country. 

With the unexpected news of the armistice everything 
was changed. Our feverish activities and our restless 
minds turned once more to normal things. We even 
began to think of golf championships again and 1 to 
wonder when they would be resumed. 

The year 1918 had been purely and simply a Red 
Cross year. It stood alone as the only season in which 
not a single one of the championship tournaments of 
the country was played by the men golfers. It was with 
absolute unanimity that golfers laid aside their com- 
petitions, using their skill as a means of raising money 
for the Red Cross, or for a bit of friendly enjoyment 
during a time of much suffering and sorrow. 

The season's golf left its impress upon the game. 
It made Americans appreciate the professional player. 
The professionals were very generous in giving their time 
to the game, but I am sure that they have been rewarded 
by this new appreciation. The professional's game is 
much better to watch than the amateur's, but many a 
time I have seen the amateur in the open events trailed 
by a large gallery while the best professionals walked 
almost alone. There will not be so much of that here- 
after. We learned to understand the good points of 
their game in the Red Cross events. 

One of the most highly treasured mementos of the 
season was a set of resolutions, engrossed on plate paper 




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his return from abroad, arid shows his position in putting at that 
time. 



Auctioneers on the Links 273 

and bound in morocco, presented to me on Memorial 
Day the following year. The resolutions were passed 
by the Edgewater Club in December, 1918. They recited 
how I had been on the road, almost constantly, from 
April 23 to Oct. 5 in the interest of Red Cross golf; 
how I had played in 41 different cities traveling approxi- 
mately 26,000 miles, and how I had assisted in raising 
$300,000 under the management of the Western Golf 
Association. 



CHAPTER XXII 

DEFENDING MY TITLES 

A season bare of honors — Back to the Western 
Amateur — Keeping pace with the " pros " — 
Thrill of a lifetime at Roslyn precedes victory in 
the National. 

The scene of my defense of the Open Championship 
title, which I had held since 1916, was the Brae Burn 
Country Club, near Boston. The time was June. It 
was earlier than usual, and if I had not been champion 
I do not think that I should have attended the event, 
for in spite of some good luck the amateurs are rather 
far outclassed by the professionals. 

I arrived in Boston, however, a few days ahead of the 
tournament, and had several pleasant practice rounds, 
one with Charlie Hoffner of Philadelphia who seemed 
very promising. I found the narrow course much to 
my liking, but the fast rolling greens were a puzzle to 
me, and from first to last I had much trouble with them. 
Up to the greens I was playing about the finest game 
of my life ; on them I was playing my worst. 

I had scarcely teed up for my first round before I 
heard that Ouimet had 36 for ten holes. This was a 
wonderful score, but he, too, had his troubles afterwards. 
When the tournament ended I had lost my title rather 
easily, but I was first amateur. Ouimet was second. I 
have been unusually fortunate in the National Open, 

274 



Defending My Titles 275 

for, in addition to winning the title in 1916, I have been 
first amateur in every one of the events in which I 
entered, except in 1915 at Baltusrol when Jerome 
Travers won the title. 

Mike Brady has had many a chance to win and Brae 
Burn seemed his most glorious opportunity. Yet with 
but nine holes to go he faltered sadly and allowed Hagen 
to tie, and Hagen won the play-off. 

Following my defeat in the National Open I left Bos- 
ton for Long Island, where on the National Golf Links 
of America I had a wonderful three days of golf with 
Mr. Sabin, Mr. Ames and Mr. Grace. It was a delightful 
change from the tense nerves of the professional event. 

I had been looking forward with much pleasure to the 
first amateur championship since 1916. The intervening 
years had been sad and hard and the National Amateur 
of 1919, scheduled for Oakmont, near Pittsburgh, prom- 
ised to bring back something of the old, carefree, before- 
the-war days. But Fate has a way of shattering happy 
anticipations, and during the summer my old enemy 
disclosed himself with disquieting touches of pain in 
knee, in heel, and occasionally in my right arm. Whether 
it meant neuritis or rheumatism, the malady was 
taking the zest owt of the summer from which I had 
expected so much pleasure. Then my father was taken 
ill, and the outlook was far from cheerful. As the 
event approached matters shaped themselves somewhat 
encouragingly, however, and I was able to leave Friday 
night, arriving in Pittsburgh in time to play. 

I was paired with George Ormiston of Pittsburgh and 
we were among the unfortunate late starters. When 
we were five holes from home, one of the worst storms 



276 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

of hail, wind and rain that I have ever known swept 
the course. For a time there was nothing that we could 
do except lie flat in a bunker and try to shield our faces 
from the hail, while a caddie with a split finger sobbed 
beside us. Mr. Ormiston was not very substantially 
clothed and when he removed his wet garments in the 
clubhouse he looked as if he had been through a small- 
pox siege. 

Francis Ouimet was on the last hole when the storm 
broke out, but he, too, was completely drenched. The 
next day he was reported seriously ill with tonsillitis. 
My neuritis was also worse. It rained again Sunday 
and also Monday, the last day of the qualifying round, 
but in spite of the weather and our illnesses, I managed 
to qualify with 161 and Francis with 166. 

I played my first match round on Tuesday against 
Dwight Armstrong of Pittsburgh and won 7 and 6; 
Francis played his first round against E. C. Cleary of 
Philadelphia, winning 2 and 1. 

These victories brought Francis and me together for 
the first time in any big match-play event. The morn- 
ing round was close and we ended all square. In the 
afternoon Ouimet played a remarkable game. He was 
3 up going to the twenty-seventh, but I won that hole. 
He had needed a 4 for a record 32, but he took a 6, 
his resulting 34 being 3 under par! 

We were all even going to the thirty-sixth. Both made 
ii-ood drives. Ouimet 's second shot went into a bunker 
at the side of the green, but fortunately for him the lie 
was comparatively good. Mine went into the long grass, 
and unfortunately for me the lie was very bad. Ouimet 
made a good out and dropped to within 10 feet of the 



Defending My Titles 277 

cup. My shot from the rough was 15 feet away. I tried 
for my putt and missed by a few inches. Ouimet sank 
his and the gallery cheered wildly. I shook hands with 
the victor and the crowd rushed to congratulate him. 
I found myself standing entirely alone and went back 
unnoticed to the clubhouse. 

Bobby Jones of Atlanta and Davidson Herron of 
Pittsburgh . fought their way to the finals, the latter by 
some sterling golf defeating the southerner 5 and 4 for 
the championship. 

In 1920 the Western Amateur was held at Memphis, 
Tennessee, in July, and it was the first time in its history 
that the event had been held on a Southern course. In 
1915, when I had won the Western title for the fourth 
time, I resolved to give up the event. I was sorry to 
do it because I loved it, but I felt that I had had more 
than my share of honors in that particular event, and 
there were many promising young golfers just coming 
on who needed the encouragement of a Western title and 
I did not care to stand in their way. 

Two events passed in which I did not enter, but when, 
with the war over, Memphis was selected my Southern 
friends begged me to reconsider my decision. They 
thought that the Northern golfers might so fear the 
heat that the tournament would not be properly repre- 
sentative. I had some fear of Memphis in July myself, 
and I had more fear of the Bermuda grass greens, but 
I have never been accustomed to ' ' save ' ' my game, 
and I went. 

I found the personnel of players much changed from 
1915. The field was decidedly young. Bobby Jones 
was there with a big following. He had just won the 



278 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Southern Championship at Chattanooga, Tennessee, with 
the greatest ease. As for ' * native heath ' ' — Bermuda 
grass was Bobby's. He was so far ahead of the rest of 
us in the qualifying round that it looked like a one-man 
event. 

As the tournament progressed, however, my game 
improved. I became more accustomed to the heat and 
the Bermuda grass greens. I was feeling ancient 
because all of my opponents, until I reached the final, 
were under age. Bobby and I met in the semifinals 
in what was regarded as the deciding match of the 
event. I was not supposed to have much of a chance 
owing to my opponent 's popularity. . Trains brought 
crowds from all over the South and we had a tremendous 
gallery. 

At the end of the first 18 holes we were all square, 
but as usual my third nine was my best, and much to 
the surprise of the crowd I soon found myself 3 up and 
7 to play. Then Bobby played three holes under par 
and won each of them, and I had a thrilling time on 
the next four holes. I turned an almost certain loss 
of a hole on the thirt} r -fifth to victory by what seemed 
to me a miraculous bunker shot and putt. Then I 
played the last hole safe and won the match. 

My opponent in the finals next day was Clarence 
Wolff, a fine young player from St. Louis. It was an 
interesting match, and my victory gave me the Western 
Championship for the fifth time. 

The 1920 National Open Championship was played 
over the Inverness Club course at Toledo. It was the 
largest and best I have ever attended. In spite of the 
tremendous field the professionals' knowledge of the 



Defending My Titles 279 

rules and their habit of quick playing made the rounds 
progress with incredible speed and smoothness. In addi- 
tion to all the leading professionals of the United States 
the presence of Vardon and Ray, the British profes- 
sionals, and Mr. Armour, the Scottish amateur, added to 
the interest of the occasion. 

The course which had been almost entirely remodeled 
was in excellent condition, and very fine — difficult but 
fair — not a tricky shot, or hole. From the start the 
playing was of the finest, and some beautiful rounds 
were made. Our home-bred professionals, with the 
exception of Leo Diegel, who played some wonderful 
golf, did not do so well as usual. The British profes- 
sionals had their troubles, but their greater steadiness 
brought them through in good shape, Ray's victory 
being well-deserved. I feel sure that Vardon would 
have stood higher, but his last holes were played in a 
sudden, terrific, but very short, windstorm that the 
earlier players missed. 

While playing I was much dissatisfied with my own 
game. For some reason I found the course very hard. 
Its length fatigued me greatly. Naturally I was sur- 
prised to find, when the scores were in, that I was only 
three strokes behind the leaders, and one stroke ahead 
of Bobby Jones, the nearest amateur. Yet I had not had 
one brilliant round, and I had missed a number of 
short putts. I had a bad position in the field, a very 
early one, and it was entirely my own fault. I forgot 
to tell my club secretary to send in my entry, and it 
was done at the last moment, by telegraph. I had to 
take either a very late, or very early position, and I 
chose the early one, and I never knew until late in the 



280 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

afternoon how I compared with the leaders. I was so 
disgusted with my putting, however, that I strongly 
considered adopting a new method, and a new putter 
for the National Amateur which would take place a few 
weeks later. 

The Toledo tournament was a miracle of good manage- 
ment. It would not be fair to mention individuals, for 
the whole Inverness Club acted the generous host as one 
man, and the result was an extraordinary success. 

About a week after my return from Toledo I played 
three matches on three successive days, against Vardon 
and Ray. The first one was with Phil Gaudin at the 
Skokie Golf Club, with a big gallery in a downpour of 
rain, and won 6 and 5 ; the next match was at eighteen 
holes at the Lake Shore Club, my partner was Robert 
Gardner, and we were defeated 1 up before an enormous 
gallery; my third match was at South Bend, Indiana, 
where I was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. J. D. Oliver. 
My partner was Walter Hagen, and after being 2 down 
and 3 to play we ended all even. 

The Engineers* course near Roslyn, Long Island, 
seemed at first sight to be the most unusual links on 
which the National Amateur Championship had ever 
been played. I saw it for the first time early in the 
summer when I was making a business trip to New York, 
and I played a hasty and rather poor round over it. I 
did not see it again until the afternoon of Friday preced- 
ing the tournament when I walked over a few holes. It 
looked very difficult. I found most of the visiting golfers 
complaining about the course. Then and there I made 
up my mind to adopt another attitude. No good can 
come of fighting a course. I adopted a new resolution for 



Defending My Titles 281 

that tournament and that was that if I had made a good 
shot, or won a match I would not immediately believe 
that I had been suddenly transformed into a second 
Yardon, but merely consider myself lucky for the time. 

The International team matches were to be played on 
Saturday and I played my first round over the course, 
winning my match. Great Britain was represented in 
the tournament by its Amateur Champion, Cyril J. H. 
Tolley, Roger TVethered, Lord Charles Hope, and 
Thomas D. Armour of Scotland, the French Open Chain- 
pion. And Canada by its Amateur Champion, C. B. 
Grier, George D. Lyon, many times Amateur Champion, 
and a group of excellent players. This gave an inter- 
national aspect to the event. 

The qualifying rounds of the tournament proper were 
to be played on Monday over two courses — the addi- 
tional course being North Shore, a very fine one about 
three miles from the Engineers \ My first round was 
early in the morning over the North Shore, where I 
played comfortably under 80. The afternoon at the 
Engineers' was crowded and slow, overwhelmingly so it 
seemed to me fresh from the rapid professional field at 
Toledo. I came through with a total of 160. I was very 
sorry to learn that most of the British players had failed 
to qualify. 

Unless one approached it carefully there was some- 
thing about that course to intimidate. When I looked at 
the bracket and found that Mr. Ouimet and I were on 
opposite sides I was pleased for I had waited a whole 
year for the chance of meeting him again. It seemed to 
me that his half, excepting Bobby Jones, was the easier, 
but I was learning the course. No one except F. C. 



282 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Newton will ever know how good was the game that he 
and I played in the first round. It was not because he 
was playing badly that I beat him by so large a margin. 
The galleries were following the other players. It was 
taken for granted that I could never win on that 
course. 

The day following I had a touch of my old trouble — 
rheumatism. Neither my opponent, Eeginald Lewis, 
nor I made very good scores, and we were close all the 
way, and I won at last by an incredibly thin shave. 

The greatest thrill of my life came on the thirty-sixth 
hole when I was one down and one to play. To keep 
my game alive I had to win that hole. My tee shot 
found a bunker, and knowing that I must make the green 
I tried to get out with a wooden club and hit up amongst 
some trees. The noise made by their branches was the 
most sickening sound I ever heard in my life. The ball, 
which I could hardly see, lay about six inches deep in 
clover. I was about 140 yards from a terrifying green 
in 2, and Lewis was just over the green in the same 
number of shots. My mashie shot from that clover was 
as perfect a shot as I have ever made in the quietest 
hour of practice and I landed within fourteen feet of 
the cup. I defy anyone, though he shoot a hundred 
balls, to come closer to that hole from my lie. It left 
me with a downhill putt. 

Owing to the slope of the greens I had to aim my 
shot considerably above the hole to allow the grade of 
the ground to send the ball into the cup. It worked 
exactly as I planned and my ball found the curve and 
rolled in. Lewis missed his putt, and then we started 
on the extra holes. All the other matches were long 



Defending My Titles 283 

over and a big gallery was following us. It was inter- 
esting but we were not playing well. It was not until 
the forty-first hole that I got down the winning putt. I 
do not know how Reginald Lewis felt, but when that 
match was over I was the weariest mortal who ever 
walked a golf links. 

The next morning I was feeling fine physically, in 
fact I confided to my opponent, W. C. Fownes, Jr., that 
it was the first round that I had played over that course 
in which I was free from rheumatism. Mentally it was 
different, for Mr. Fownes had just put out Robert Gard- 
ner, and I was the lone western representative. Mr. 
Fownes, however, seemed very tired, and I found myself 
playing extremely well and I ended the morning round 
8 up. I had learned by this time a great deal about the 
course. It was lucky that I stored up so good a lead, 
for Fownes' afternoon game was so fine that I was able 
to add but one hole to my morning lead. 

The next day I played E. P. Allis, who had just beaten 
J. Wood Piatt, who in turn had defeated Davidson Her- 
ron. Allis is a good golfer, and a magnificent putter, 
one of the players who hole 40 and 50 footers with ease. 
He had defeated me in the 1913 Western. The game 
demanded through the Engineers ' fairway did not suit 
him, however, and after a rather close morning round I 
was able to defeat him by a very large margin. 

In the same semifinals round Francis Ouimet beat 
Bobby Jones, 6 and 5. The margin surprised me because 
I know just how well Bobby can play. 

The prospect of a final between Francis and me 
aroused the greatest excitement, and, although we had 
never played together under circumstances that would 



284 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

afford a fair chance to judge our games, it seemed the 
unanimous belief of all the golf writers that Francis 
would win. Outside of the natural prejudice in favor 
of an eastern player, I think that the overwhelming 
belief grew out of the mistaken idea that the Engineers' 
was a putting course. " Francis is the best putter, and 
of course he will win," was the consensus of opinion. 

I won that final by the big margin of 7 and 6 on the 
fairway and became again the National Amateur Cham- 
pion. I putted well, not excellently. At last I had 
found a course where good second shots and well placed 
tee shots found their righteous reward, and for the time 
being the putting green was dethroned. Throughout 
that long week I never holed a really long putt, or had 
a freakishly good shot of any kind, and I missed many 
short putts. But I did place my tee shots, and I did 
keep my second shots out of bunkers, and marvelous 
putting was not necessary. Whenever at the Engineers' 
you found yourself obliged to make an extra fine putt 
you could be sure that your work through the fairway 
had faltered. Francis did not putt so well as usual, 
but his real weakness that day was through the fair 
green, and on that course you could not wander from 
the straight path without punishment. 

I was glad to win, not only because I had waited a 
year for an opportunity to play against so fine a man 
as Francis, but also because it showed me that there was 
a championship course where the careful shot-making 
part of the game was rewarded. It was no place for 
the mighty hitter who lacked direction. 

The night following the final I left for Bethlehem, 
Pennsylvania, where I had a little social match with 



Defending My Titles 285 

friends at the Bethlehem Country Club. Then on my 
way westward I was taken very ill, but a rest all day 
on the train enabled me to take an aeroplane to Kokomo, 
Indiana, where Robert MacDonald and I were due to 
play Vardon and Ray. In spite of my illness my game 
was at its best, Bob 's was also good, and we had a great 
victory of 6 and 5. 

I was too ill to go to Washington where I had an 
engagement with Judge Payne, Secretary of the Interior, 
and Bob and I went home to Chicago by aeroplane. 
After a little rest I went East again to keep my engage- 
ments in Vardon and Hay matches. There was one at 
Merion Cricket Club, Philadelphia, where Max Marston 
and I were defeated, 1 up; another at Morris County, 
New Jersey, where Bobby Jones and I got a 10 and 9 
victory, and a very interesting one at the Northampton 
Club where Mr. E. G. Grace and I held those wonderful 
Britons even for the first 30 holes, but were defeated 
3 and 2 in the late afternoon. 

Then I played with my cabinet friends in Washington 
and a little later I went to Port Arthur, Canada, for a 
match with Mr. Lyon. On my way to the States I was 
again taken ill, and I ended my glorious golf season of 
1920 in a hospital at Duluth, Minnesota; but oh! how 
I had enjoyed myself 



CHAPTER XXIII 

"OLD EDGE WATER " 

There is just one boon I would ask of Fate 

Could I live life over again; 
I would play as of old on the Edgewater course, 

A boy — with the Edgewater men. 

As soon as I was able to travel I came home to receive 
an Edgewater welcome. It was a royal one, and as a 
token of appreciation of the honor I had brought the 
club I was presented with a beautiful little roadster, the 
outgoing president, H. A. Lundahl, and the incoming 
president, Paul E. Loeber, uniting in kindly expression 
of their pleasure. One of the greatest joys of victory 
is the satisfaction it affords one's friends. It was 
brought home to me with deeper significance when a few 
weeks later I was presented with a life membership in 
the Chicago District Golf Association. 

During the whole time that I was caddying at the 
Edgewater Golf Club, J. C. Brocklebank was its presi- 
dent. I saw a great deal of him, first from afar, and 
then nearer and nearer as the years went by, and I 
learned to know what a fine man he was. He was a good 
friend and I owe much of whatever success I have made 
of my life to him. 

Mr. Brocklebank was a natural executive, and the 
reason that he was in office so long was because he filled 

286 



" Old Edgewater " 287 

the needs of the place so exactly. The club was his 
Edgewater. Occasionally he would try to resign his 
office, but the members would not let him go. To the 
old members he was always known as " Brock." 

He was succeeded as president by William J. Mac- 
Donald, a fine business man, who carried the Edgewater 
Club most successfully through its transition period 
from the Old to the New Edgewater. His knowledge of 
real estate values put the New Club on a firm basis of 
prosperity. He had a genius for organizing, and the 
Annandale Club near Los Angeles, California, has also 
enjoyed the advantage of his guiding hand. He was a 
very good player, too, and I do not think I have ever had 
a better friend, and that is saying a good deal. 

E. C. Herring, E. B. Ellicott, now a lieutenant 
colonel, and C. H. Brampton were men for whom I 
often caddied. Mr. Herring played the Edgewater 
course well. He hit his shoulder on the back stroke and 
as a result the club grip worked back and forth in his 
palm, and palm-gripping I consider one of the heresies 
of golf. Mr. Brampton was a slashing driver and one 
day, when I was caddying for him, he carried into the 
second valley of the sixth. Mr. Ellicott, who always 
played on the Edgewater teams, was very popular with 
all the caddies. 

There were two brothers, R. L. and C. B. Davis, for 
whom I often caddied in the early days. R. L. Davis 
was cue of the best students of the game on the grounds, 
much of his time being given to practice. Later on he 
developed a hitchy sort of a full stroke, and its irreg- 
ularity made it less successful. Another crowd that 
used to play together, and among whom I always liked 



288 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

to get a job, was composed of D. F. and J. L. Flannery, 
J. E. Tilt and John McConnell. 

D. F. Flannery was, indeed, a good friend of mine. 
He was always breaking his wooden clubs because he 
just chopped down on the ball with the clubhead hitting 
the ground harder than the ball. I showed him how 
to get more of a sweep and he was much pleased. 

Mr. Tilt was a left-handed player. He was a very 
small, rapid-gaited man, but even though he just sped 
around the course I was always at his side when he 
wanted a club and he never had to tell me to stand in 
another spot because he was left-handed. Mr. Fullerton 
was a still faster walker, indeed, he could outdistance 
any member when playing around the course. 

John McConnell took his golf easily and he was a 
very kind and easy person to caddy for. The fault of 
his golf was that he always used to stop his stroke when 
the ball was struck instead of sending the clubhead 
through it. 

One of the members for whom I caddied a great deal 
in the early days was T. N. Koehler. He played usually 
in a four-ball match, the other members of it being 
Harry Taylor, Charles H. Hermann and Claude Sey- 
mour. I have since been told that there was always a 
debate between these men to determine which could get 
me for a caddie, and that many times they matched coins 
for me. I can never forget my daily trips around the 
links with them for they were the jolliest foursome that 
ever came out, and Mr. Seymour was probably the most 
cheerful of all. No one mourned his death more than I. 

One of these players told me that one day they were 
watching me at the finish of their game. They saw me 




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" Old Edgewater " 289 

drop an ancient, badly cut-up ball where I stood, and 
then taking my old mashie play it across the course 
on my way home. Mr. Seymour turned to the others 
and said: " That kid will be a champion golfer some 
day!" 

I think that he must have been one of my earliest 
prophets. 

One of the dearest memories I have of Old Edgewater 
is of my work for Henry Newton, a small and very 
bronzed man, who made a study of the game and golfed 
summer and winter. I think that my brother caddied 
for him, too, for rain or shine, Mr. Newton was always 
out. He liked to converse with me about the game while 
I caddied for him, and was always very kind and encour- 
aging to me. He took a deep interest in the old club 
and everything connected with it. Mr. Newton died 
several years ago in California. 

Colonel McEntee was a man for whom I caddied often. 
He was a Civil War veteran and I remember lying on 
the ground near a congested short hole one Saturday 
afternoon and hearing him tell of some of his experi- 
ences as a soldier. He was of special interest to me at 
that time, for there were not so many colonels then 
as now. 

These men were particularly friendly with another 
great friend of mine at the club. This was C. K. Miller. 
All along my golfing way he has been a source of encour- 
agement. I think that Mr. Miller first came out to the 
club to find relief from nervousness and for that reason 
he liked to play when the course was not crowded. There 
was nothing that amused Mr. Miller more than the 
inseparability of my midiron and me. When my way 



290 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

to the national championship seemed long, and the real- 
ization of my hopes was delayed, Mr. Miller's belief in 
me never faltered. 

W. G. Stoughton had belonged to the old club when 
it was playing on vacant lots west of Broadway and 
north of Foster, and, of course, he was one of the adven- 
turous spirits who moved to the real course at Devon 
avenue and took an active part in the development of 
that course and club. I admired him very much, and 
this esteem led me to imitate him in a habit that has 
proved most beneficial to me. Although he competed 
often with other players he was accustomed to take a 
single club and go off alone to practice out different 
ideas. In consequence the boys used to refer to him as 
" Old Lonesome,' ' a term that might since have been 
applied to me, for that is my habit of practice, and I 
am convinced that it is the best one. 

Another one of Edgewater 's earliest players was 
George E. Watson. He had been to England and in the 
course of a bicycle trip from Edinburgh to London 
had stopped at several golf clubs. He came home an" 
immediately inoculated his friend CL P. Whitney with 
his golf enthusiasm. As a result they joined Edgewater, 
the course nearest to them. 

One of the interesting figures at Old Edgewater was 
George I. Jones, known to his friends as " G. I." Mr. 
Jones was one of the charter members of the club and 
had even played golf on the " First Edgewater," down 
on Foster Avenue. It was as a caddie for his daughter, 
Miss Amy Jones, that I made my first essay at golf. 
He was a very quiet man who played golf more for 
exercise than for companionship. I caddied for him 



" Old Edgewater " 291 

many times. His clubs were of the kind first made in 
this country. He never changed them nor his shafts 
either. 

George Manierre was one of the Edgewater regulars 
and came out early in the morning, often when the grass 
was still dewy. Horton gave him many a lesson and 
I chased many a ball for him. At that time he was 
having considerable trouble with his eyes, and one of 
his reasons for coming out so often to the club was the 
advantage the enforced rest might be to them. 

When we played around, Mr. Manierre always had me 
tee up his ball, and owing to the fact that he did not 
see well it had to be done very accurately. He had a 
very good swing, however, and I could not realize that 
he could not see where the ball went. 

R. A. Grief en joined the old Edgewater Golf Club 
about 1899. He had been a member of the old Evanston 
Golf Club at Main Street for two years previous. This 
course was usually under water, and that fact enabled 
Mr. Grief en to appreciate the sandy, well-drained Edge- 
water links. I often carried for him during my caddie 
days and played many a game with him afterwards. 
Often I played in a foursome with him and Mr. Lincoln 
and Harry Turpie. 

L. A. Ferguson played a splendid game in the old 
days. He was one of the longest and straightest drivers 
we had. One day when I was caddying for him he got 
onto the " Birches " green in a drive, a brassie and 
a long iron, which was some golf in the days of the 
hard ball. F. C. Schoenthaler belonged to the club in 
those days but he rarely came out, his two sons, Warren 
and Marshall, making up for his absences. 



292 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

I have a clear memory of caddying for Andrew 
McNally, a white-haired kindly old gentleman, and 
going home and telling my mother that I had caddied 
for the man who made the geographies. George E. 
Marshall was another old member who was sure to come 
out for a round of golf on certain days. 

Arthur Dyrenforth, an eastern university man, was 
one of the pleasantest men and best players at Edge- 
water. He was a little more athletic than our other 
golfers, and was unusually pleasant to the boys. I 
caddied for him often and particularly liked him 
because he never got angry at either ball or caddie. 
W. W. Gurley was Mr. Dyrenforth 's partner, and the 
two were always coupled in my mind. 

L. A. Calkins was one of the smallest members of the 
club, but there was nothing small about his golf. He 
always smoked a cigar, and I recall how he drew his left 
foot off the ground when he finished his stroke. I think 
that he had the tightest palm grip I ever saw. He was 
a serious golfer and always wanted to know why he 
couldn't do this or that. Mrs. Calkins was also a golfer 
and they both played in the mixed foursomes, much to 
the amusement of the caddies for she was just as cool 
and even-tempered as he was quick and excitable. 

Mr. Stiles came out rather infrequently, but I always 
associate him with Ed. Heath, who was a lover of Edge- 
water and owner of some fine horses. He usually rode 
horseback to the club and then engaged a caddie to hold 
his mount while he played golf. I had the job once 
but I preferred caddying. 

It seems to me that there were a good many left- 
handed golfers at Old Edgewater. They played pretty 



" Old Edgewater " 293 

well, too. One of them was T. E. Grubb, a great friend 
of mine. He was one of the few men who came out 
and played with their wives. Frequently I had them 
" double/' That means that I carried both bags, some- 
thing every caddie, if he is strong enough, loves to do, 
for it means double pay. Mr. Grubb played a great 
deal with those other good friends of mine, George 
Weaver and Fred Larson. 

Still another left-handed player was C. A. Jennings 
who was a very popular member of the club. Mrs. Jen- 
nings, too, was a good golfer, and was very active in 
ladies' events. There was also a pretty little daughter 
Elizabeth. 

Eddie Crosby was one of the finest players at Old 
Edgewater notwithstanding the fact that he was on the 
wrong side of the ball. He was about the prettiest-play- 
ing left-hander I have ever seen. He had as fine a 
swing as one would care to see, and moreover, a very 
graceful one. Few indeed could beat him in those days. 
He had a dear old father, W. S. Crosby, who was very 
generous to the caddies, and there was a long, lanky 
son, Millard, of whom I saw more later. 

John Francis, a Burlington Railway official, was 
another member of the rather large group of left- 
handed golfers at Edgewater. He loved to play and 
was usually good for an all-day job on Sunday. He 
played a great deal with Mr. Houston, a Kentucky 
gentleman with a marked southern accent that interested 
the caddies. 

One Sunday morning at the golf club stands out defi- 
nitely in my mind. It was late and when I got my job 
I saw that it was a new member for he was dressed in 



294 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the full and shining regalia of the novice. I knew the 
moment that I cast my eyes upon him that I would be 
obliged to chase many a ball and keep an eye open for 
anything that might happen. A beginner is not par- 
ticularly sought after by caddies because he makes more 
work, but I have been glad for many a year that I never 
hesitated over the job that morning, for it was the begin- 
ning of a long and happy friendship. 

I am afraid, too, that on that first day G. M. Weaver 
did not consider me a very promising-looking caddie, 
for he said later that ' ' the freckled little fellow seemed 
too delicate and hardly strong enough for the job. ' ' We 
concealed our feelings when we started out, but at the 
end of the round we were mutually pleased, and I was 
most liberally paid, a big, extra, silver dollar coming 
my way. After that I caddied often for Mr. Weaver, 
and he frequently brought out Mrs. Weaver. They 
never forgot that I was the first caddie they ever had 
at Edge water. 

E. P. Chatfield was an ardent Edgewater golfer. He 
came to the club a little before I began playing in tourna- 
ments, I think that I was at the Evanston Academy 
then, and we frequently played together. Often we 
golfed around with only a midiron. Each winter he 
went away to play golf for he loved the game. He died 
in Florida and I felt that another link had been snapped 
in the chain of Old Edgewater memories. 

I could tell all the Edgewater players by their swings, 
and in this connection I recall, with something of a 
pang, a little habit of mine. I always paused for a 
moment as I turned the alley of Southport Avenue of 
afternoons, for from that point I could take in the 



" Old Edgewater " 295 

whole course at a glance, and tell exactly who was out, 
as I could identify every player by his swing, and if 
it was a man with whom I was likely to be asked to 
play I can remember how my step quickened. 

Mr. Chatfield's swing was one of the easiest to pick 
out. I think that he rather grew to depend on me, and 
I on him. In those late fall afternoons he was sure that 
" Chick would be out anyway." He was one of the 
kindest, friendliest men I have ever known. 

An interesting figure among the members of the old 
club was J. L. Silsbee. He lived down in Edgewater, 
and I believe that he was an architect by profession. 
He played very often but rarely took a caddie. Some- 
times one of his several pretty daughters came out and 
caddied for him. This did not make him popular with 
the caddies, but I carried for him several times and 
liked him, for he was never unkind and never swore when 
he missed a shot. He played his golf silently as if it 
was a serious business, taking just so much of a man's 
time. 

During these years some clever man invented an 
attachment for the bag of the caddieless golfer. It was 
a protruding rod that could be stuck in the ground to 
hold the bag upright while the shot was being made, 
for bending over to pick up the bag after every shot 
on 18 holes was wearisome work. Mr. Silsbee was the 
first one to employ this invention at the Edgewater 
Club. It amused the kids very much. 

My earliest recollections of Knowlton L. Ames are 
connected with a bright, shiny quarter that one of the 
other caddies had received as a tip from that sterling 
player. All of the boys wanted to caddy for him, not 



296 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

only because he was generous but also because he played 
a good game and always competed with good players, 
and therefore there were few lost balls and not much 
of the trouble that makes so many extra steps for cad- 
dies. Then, too, when he came out on holidays, it always 
meant an all-day job and that is the sort the caddie 
is looking for. 

Mr. Ames' most frequent playing companions in those 
days were Jack Sellers, C. E. Yerkes, Mr. Donnell and 
H. T. Holtz. Mr. Ames himself, however, chiefly used 
Edgewater as a spring and fall club, and in the summer 
months he played at Glenview and Chicago Golf, far 
out in the country. 

At that time Mr. Ames and Mr. Sellers were as good 
players as any in the West and there was a sharp rivalry 
between them. Time and again they met in matches and 
their contests were usually close. 

These two men had a great and continued influence 
over my game and my early life at Edgewater. About 
the first bit of useful golf instruction I ever received 
came from Mr. Sellers. He told me to put both thumbs 
down the shaft when playing my irons, and that little 
tip has had a great deal to do with the accuracy of 
these shots which seemed to come rather easily to me 
later on. I remember his practicing out on the third 
fairway and his grip, which I immediately copied, 
comes before me like a picture now. 

One of the proudest moments of my life was when I 
beat both Mr. Ames and Mr. Sellers, using my midiron 
for all the shots. That circumstance and their praise 
gave me a great deal of encouragement. 

There was one man at Edgewater in my early caddy- 



" Old Edgewater " 297 

ing days who I am sure had a kinder heart than ninety 
per cent of the people in this world. This was Philip 
R. Wilmarth, who lived in Rogers Park. He was the 
father of a large family. His eldest son was a great 
friend of mine, playing on the same football and baseball 
teams, and his daughter Helen, who grew up to be a 
very charming girl, was in my class in the Eugene Field 
Grammar School. 

Mr. Wilmarth was over six feet in height and when 
he connected with a golf ball he drove it farther than 
any other member of Edgewater. He had a peculiar- 
headed driver with a very long shaft, and he took this 
club high up and sort of held it before bringing it down. 
At times he played a perfectly splendid game, but on 
other occasions his full, jerky swing failed to connect 
with the ball, and then the results made me, his caddie, 
almost weep. 

Mr. Wilmarth came out to play very often, and one 
of his frequent companions was W. E. Bloomfield, a 
neighbor. Although Mr. Bloomfield was in no sense an 
athletic man and his game was poor Mr. Wilmarth liked 
very much to play with him. The reason for this was 
partly because Mr. Bloomfield was a pleasant and inter- 
esting companion, but I believe also, and this is a tribute 
to Mr. Wilmarth 's great kindness of heart, that he felt 
he could always cheer Mr. Bloomfield up. For in spite 
of a brave, outside cheerfulness Mr. Bloomfield suffered 
agonies from cancer of the ear. 

Among my friends I regarded none more highly than 
W. S. Warren. He was especially kind and encouraging 
to me in the early days of Old Edgewater. I think that 
he joined the club in 1899 or at any rate, he was among 



298 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

the early members and long a familiar sight on the 
course. 

Mr. Warren had always been interested in athletics, 
having been a good cricketer in his day, and he was 
at one time a member of the Cincinnati Red Stocking 
Baseball Team, which, as the baseball historian will 
tell you, was the nucleus of organized baseball. He 
liked billiards, too, but his favorite sport was golf. I 
know that he particularly encouraged his children to 
play that game. The result was that Parsons and Miss 
Marion were good young golfers, but in later years did 
not give the time necessary to perfect their game. 

One act of Mr. Warren made him solid with every 
caddie. He put up a beautiful silver cup with buck- 
horn handles to be played for at the club — with perma- 
nent possession to the three-time winner. I remember 
seeing it in a glass case on the clubhouse veranda. 

The competition for which the cup was put up was 
a three-day handicap event, at 27 holes, three times 
around Old Edgewater, on that many occasions. And 
Parsons Warren, son of the donor, when about sixteen 
years old, with little Chick Evans caddying for him 
won the cup. 

A few years afterwards John McConnell gave a cup 
to be played for by Edgewater members of fifty-five 
years, or over, and I remember that Mr. Warren 
defeated Mr. Chat field in the semi-finals, and H. J. Peet 
on the nineteenth hole in the final. The next year Mr. 
Warren gave a cup for the same kind of an event and 
Mr. Plannery beat Laverne Noyes in the final. 



CHAPTER XXIV 

MATCHES NOT IN THE " BOOK " 

Players at Old Edgewater typical Chicagoans — 
Odd shots find queer lies — Ball seeks out a new 
nineteenth hole — Watch crystal serves as tee — 
Known by their swings. 

Although only a 9-hole course, Edgewater had very 
fine, well-drained greens that could be played even after 
the heaviest rains, and in addition, it was the most acces- 
sible of all the Chicago courses. Consequently good 
players frequented the course in the beginning or at 
the finish of their season. Hence it happened that I 
could watch most of the good players of the district 
there. It was there that I saw the Egan boys for the 
first time, although I did not get a chance to caddy for 
them. Their names, of course, were familiar to me, and 
I scarcely took my eyes from them. I was caddying at 
the time for "Waller Knott. 

Mr. Knott was a very promising player in those days, 
and he and W. E. Clow, Jr., usually represented Edge- 
water in the scratch tournaments. Parsons Warren also 
played in these events. I recall that Knott had a boyish 
swing, not a real hit, but he was always on the line, a 
careful player, and a good putter, and once beat Chan- 
dler Egan in a tourney. 

W. E. Clow, Jr., had a long drive like Parsons War- 
ren, but it lacked the dash and prettiness of Pat 's stroke. 

299 



300 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

He sort of swept the ball off the tee and fussed a lot 
with his stance and grip, while Parsons got up and let 
her have it. When it did go, oh my ! 

I think that I caddied for Mr. Clow in my first big 
tournament away from Edge water. The National Cham- 
pionship was being held at Glenview and our caddie 
master told us that all who went out would be guar- 
anteed a certain sum. I was not one of the boys selected 
so I asked Mr. Clow if I could caddy for him, and he 
agreed to it. In those days there was no easy or inex- 
pensive way of getting to the club. The only trans- 
portation was the old bus that left the Avenue House 
in Evanston at an early hour. I remember walking 
it but I frequently went out Church Street and 
" bummed " a ride on some passing vehicle. 

Mr. Clow tied for last place with Louis James, the 
winner of the tournament, and much to my sorrow lost. 
I went out another day, however, for we were getting 
paid anyway. I forget whom Mr. Travis was playing 
that day, but after his match I wiggled through the 
crowd up to the hole on which he had won, and said: 
" May I shake hands with you, Mr. Travis? " 

I shall never forget how angry, my brother was at the 
sight of this unwarranted presumption on my part. 

Tom Bendelow, a real Scotsman, and Herbert Tweedie 
used to come out pretty often to the club, but my own 
close association with Mr. Bendelow came a little later 
when I had emerged somewhat from the crowd of boys. 
At that time he was a noted golf authority and he was 
laying out many courses. 

I caddied very regularly at one time for R. R. Cable, 
and he always liked me to keep score for him. Each 



Matches Not in the " Book " 301 

night after he was through playing he studied the 
figures very carefully. He came out every day with his 
chauffeur who caddied for him if it happened that I 
could not. 

Mr. Cable was a picturesque figure at Old Edgewater 
in those days — white-haired and white-bearded. I recall 
that he had red rubber grips on his clubs and always 
wore gloves when playing. At that time he was presi- 
dent of the Rock Island railroad, and a power in financial 
circles, but to the small boy caddying for him he was 
only a kindly old man. 

There was another Edgewater golfer who felt that he 
owed his life to golf — Amos Pettibone — and I know 
that he is glad that he took his doctor's advice and joined 
the club, but I doubt if he is really more pleased than I. 
I carried for him a great deal and he came out regularly, 
but for a while he only played nine holes. He seemed 
to take such a genuine interest in me and I was always 
so happy to be with him. 

I was playing with him one morning when I was just 
fifteen years old, and I made a 34. It happened that 
Turpie had never made Old Edgewater better than 35, 
Horton's best was the same, with Parsons Warren hold- 
ing the amateur record with 37. It was a wonderful 
occasion for me and Mr. Pettibone couldn't keep from 
telling everyone about it. 

In mentioning the names of some of the early mem- 
bers of Old Edgewater and a few characteristics of their 
playing I have tried to give a picture of the men with 
whom I had the opportunity to associate at that forma- 
tive period of my life. Their golf swings impressed my 
golfing eye and by them I knew the men. 



302 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

The Edgewater men were typical Chicagoans, perhaps 
I should say Americans. They were business and pro- 
fessional men of all sorts, and they had frequent guests 
from out of town. A good many actors came out, too, 
for members of that profession like golf. In later years 
I had occasion to impart some of my golf knowledge to 
Otis Skinner, among others. 

Edgewater was not a rich man's club, but some 
wealthy men were members, and played there at certain 
seasons. It was not a poor man's club either, but a 
number in moderate circumstances belonged to it, and 
played regularly. Poverty and riches meant little to 
the boys at that time except when their own pockets 
were empty. 

The circumstances of the families of the caddies 
varied considerably. A few of the members' sons cad- 
died, but as a rule they did not do it steadily. Generally 
it was for some special man. Almost any boy who lived 
near the club and needed pocket money went down to 
the club to get it. Generally speaking any boy who 
caddied regularly either needed the money or was 
enamored of the game. 

My father was a librarian, and that is not a highly 
paid profession. His chief interest is American 
bibliography, and when I was* about 12 years old he 
began to publish his great work on that subject. Such 
a work is expensive to bring out, and can never be 
highly remunerative. His struggle to keep me in school 
was hard and consequently I was very careful of money 
in those days, for it meant much. I caddied not only 
because I loved the game, but also because it was the 
easiest way in which I could make money and remain 



Matches Not in the " Book " 303 

in school. My mother's heart was set on an education 
for me, but I cannot say that at that time I was overly 
interested in it myself. 

Dress bothered the caddie very little, for the other 
fellows never criticized the habiliments, however poor. 
I wore a sweater constantly, even to grammar school, 
and I have a distinct remembrance of being offered by 
my mother a pecuniary inducement to wear a collar on 
some special occasion at school. It was not comfortable 
to caddy in collars and it was a dreadful nuisance to 
be obliged to change clothes as soon as one reached 
home from school. My habit was to drop school books 
inside the house door without going in and bolt for 
the club. 

The feature hole at Edgewater was called Bowling 
Alley. It paralleled Sheridan Road but was separated 
from it by some rough and a high fence, a separation 
that did not prevent H. W. Beyer's hooking over into 
the road. Near the tee on the left was the stable with 
its accompaniments of wagons, refuse heaps and other 
debris. Tiarpie often considered it a joke to put and 
find a ball in the old wagon that stood there. 

Once Turpie was giving a lesson to W. E. Bloomfield 
and he put his ball over the barn. A little later Turpie 
claimed to have discovered it in a horses' trough, and 
Mr. Bloomfield played it from there. It was only too 
true, however, that balls dropped in the vicinity of the 
red barn found queer resting places. Mr. Macomber 
claims that a ball of his, driven luckily between the 
two lines of trees of the Bowling Alley, crossed the fence 
and passed through the Ladies' Entrance to Punkin 
Pete's saloon. 



304 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Once C. E. Yerkes, Jr., sliced his ball up against the 
doors of the barn. The ball was in almost an unplay- 
able position and as Mr. Yerkes was a left-handed player, 
he pushed the doors open and played his ball right- 
handed from the inside of the barn. He made a good 
shot, too. 

The men were fond of playing jokes on each other, 
and one day Mr. Streich sent me ahead to put Mr. 
Leask's ball in the hole, having previously arranged to 
give me the sign if the ball warranted it. This was on 
the Sunset Hole and as it led directly into the sun it 
was hard to tell whether you had a good shot or not. 
Mr. Leask had made the remark that he had never made 
a hole in one, and would " buy " if he did. It seemed 
a safe remark. He did not know that a joke had been 
played on him until he had " set 'em up." 

"We had our share of unusual matches at Old Edge- 
water, and I recall one very particularly. It was about 
the first time that I ever " galleried," and I envied 
the caddies, who were, I think, Joe and Dan Morheiser. 
One of the participants in the match was Howard 
Ruggles, a fine baseball player. It was said he could 
throw a ball farther than any other man in the United 
States. The other was George B. Foster, a stout, calm 
golfer, carefully deliberate in his actions. In the match 
Mr. Ruggles was to throw the ball around the course, and 
Mr. Foster to play it in the usual way. It was in the 
hard ball days, and a good wooden shot then meant 
about 150 yards. 

The match was a great and exciting occasion, and 
there were many out to watch it. It ended even up for 
the nine holes, and two extras had to be played. On 




The three grips which have helped to make Evans a champion. 
His present putting grip is shown in the left hand corner; opposite 
is the all-important position of the left thumb. Below is shown his 
present grip for all shots except the putt. 




The address. 



Matches Not in the " Book " 305 

the eleventh, the Old Circus Ring, Mr. Foster got into 
a bunker and lost the match. 

We had other freak stunts. Once Harry Turpie car- 
ried a tall poplar, on the sixth hole, that had been the 
despair of all golfers. Once he and I drove balls very 
successfully from the crystal of President Brocklebank 's 
watch. This was considered quite a stunt. The more 
expensive the watch the more difficult the trick. 



CHAPTER XXV 

SHOTS AND HOW TO MAKE THEM 

Persistence keynote to success on the links — 
Change comes with rubber-core ball — Run-up 
shots and their value — Harry Vardon corrects 
grip. 

In these chapters on instruction I aim to put in a 
brief way what I have learned during the almost con- 
stant playing of golf up to 1920. I may not fully realize 
this, but I should like to be able to show how the path 
of progress may be shortened, for, although I finally 
reached my objective, I came a long, discouraging way, 
honeycombed with pitfalls. It may be surmised that I 
must have loved golf much to have kept on after so many 
discouragements. I was always athletically inclined but 
I feel that this persistence in the face of difficulty was 
the only natural ability in which I excelled many of the 
boys with whom I was associated at that time. 

I doubt if anyone could learn much from the methods 
I employed at the beginning for at that time I was 
merely feeling my way, full of enthusiasm but with 
wrong ideas. I could not afford professional instruction 
and I had to meet my problems alone; in fact, I have 
never had a golf lesson in my life. I have caddied when 
professionals were teaching, and I have had suggestions 
from them, but they had no time for instruction for 
caddies. Their help was in letting me play. 

306 



Shots and How to Make Them 307 

Fate brought me into contact with golf at an unusual 
time — a transition period — and my game was coincident 
with the history of the rubber-core ball. I have told 
the story of the first one played at Edgewater. When 
I began to consider golf seriously gutta-percha balls 
were still being used but the rubber-cores were coming 
along, and not even professionals knew at that time 
exactly how to control them. The old gutta-percha ball 
" ran " but little, but each year since I began to play 
golf the ball has become more resilient and therefore 
harder to control. 

I remember one of the most difficult things in playing 
the rubber-core was to put backspin on it, and I believe 
that I was one of the first players in this country to 
do it successfully. This success was probably due to 
my concentration on mashie play, but that will be 
discussed elsewhere. 

As I said I just went along feeling my way, starting 
with a half swing, thumbs straight down the shaft. Later 
on I realized the necessity of a full swing, and I did 
that, too, palming the grip, with the club slipping in 
and out of the right palm, but my game came along 
because I practiced. Most people seem to consider play- 
ing practice and that is one of the reasons that they 
never emerge from the heap. There is a vast difference 
between practicing golf shots and playing a game of 
golf. 

My early playing was done only in spare moments, 
and it was not until I forsook caddying that I began to 
practice golf seriously, falling into a simple method of 
systematic practice. There were three greens at Edge- 
water which I played to each day with my mashie. and 



308 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

in all my mashie practice since then I have described 
about the same sort of a scalene triangle, and have 
always done it a prescribed number of times. 

Even in those early days I practiced alone because 
my concentration was better. I was sensitive about it, 
too, and always played early in the morning or late in 
the afternoon when the course was deserted. When the 
Elevated railroad replaced the Chicago and Milwaukee 
Railroad tracks I hated to have people watch me from 
the train windows. I feared that they would question 
my sanity. 

At home I established the habit of swinging a wooden 
club out in the back yard each night after dinner, and 
in winter I cleared the snow away to make room for the 
required number of swings. Later on I made a rule 
never to swing a golf club except to hit a golf ball, for 
I had learned that one could swing beautifully when the 
ball wasn't there, and poorly when it was. 

I owe much to the run-up shots. I used to play them 
between the sidewalks on Southport Avenue and I could 
come surprisingly close to the nearest edge and some- 
times I played over two spaces. This practice was of 
much value to me. 

When I became a member of Edgewater I used to 
take each morning, rain or shine, a certain number of 
balls, usually twelve, and with cleek, midiron and jigger, 
I hit them three times each towards the green. Then 
I would go up around the green and play run-up shots, 
and then putt a little, always of course the same number 
of times, and occasionally hit a bunker shot or two. In 
addition I played much more than this ; in fact, I played 
too much. It was later on when I learned how to prac- 



Shots and How to Make Them 309 

tice, and how much. One learns little from practice 
when fatigued. 

Old Edgewater was a bunkerless, flat course, and I 
played it systematically until I knew it by heart. I 
had acquired a certain skill or consistency, but I had 
the grip of my earliest beginning, a stance I had fallen 
into, and I swung away like a boy who didn't know 
what he was doing, which I didn't. I did not analyze 
things. I just had a feeling that if I did a thing over 
and over again I would get somewhere, and this I did, 
consulting few people, confining myself to observation. 

When in 1911 I went to England, my trained, 
imitative golf eye saw wonderful sights. I had so much 
time to play that I soon got around in good scores, 
but I was still playing wrong. Later when I met Harry 
Vardon in Paris he told me some new things, one of 
which was that my grip for my wooden clubs was 
entirely wrong. He showed me the simple little thing 
of putting my left thumb to the side of the shaft, but 
straight down, and he advised me to " stick to it. ' ' 

Seeing all the famous players abroad I learned a great 
deal from them. In the summer I came back to this 
country and went to work on my new grip. The change 
certainly had a discouraging effect on my game, but I 
stuck to it and to many other ideas, and after a year 
they seemed natural. 

In the fall of 1911 I went to work and the problem 
then was how I could keep up the game with so little 
time to play. The new Edgewater Golf Club was a 
fine one, but the course was too new for practicing, and 
it was not so near my home as the old club. The Chicago 
Golf Club has a fine practice field and just before going 



310 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

to Denver for the 1912 Western, I used that course, as 
I did for the National. I had the right idea but I was 
wearing myself out. The year following I was again 
the guest of Judge Payne, as I had been in 1912 and I 
learned a great deal more, for he loved the game and the 
attitude of his mind towards it was analytical and this 
habit of analyzing shots which I learned from him was 
a great help to me later on. 

In the spring of 1914 I rented a room in Wheaton 
about a mile from the club. Each morning I got up at 
5 o'clock and went over to practice, came back for 
breakfast, and took a 7 o'clock train to the city for the 
day's work, and when that was ended I went out again 
to the club and played until darkness fell. Some such 
arrangement was kept up through 1915, but by the 
spring of 1916 my financial condition had so improved 
that I could afford a room at the clubhouse. This gave 
me more time and relieved the heavy drain on my 
strength. My success that year may have been partly 
the result of the change. 

There is no doubt that one of the faults of my early 
training was a tendency to overestimate my strength. 
Many a lost match was the result of actual physical 
exhaustion rather than lack of skill. 

It is from the year 1915 on that I consider my knowl- 
edge of the game had become settled and of more value 
to others. Beginning that spring, I wrote down each 
morning and evening after practice what I thought I 
had learned. I believe that during my period of practice 
for the two National Championships of 1916 I turned 
the mistakes of years into a successful golf game, and 
how I managed to do it is the story I would like to tell. 



Shots and How to Make Them 311 

One big result of my practice has been the simplifica- 
tion of my grip. With slight variety I use the same 
grip and the same stance for every shot. 

THE GRIP 

When a prospective golfer first grasps a golf club pre- 
paratory to a swing he invariably does it the wrong way, 
that is, in the palms. This may be because most Amer- 
icans have played baseball from early childhood and they 
grip a golf club as if it were a baseball bat. All my 
experience teaches me that the palm grip is absolutely 
wrong for the golfer. To hit a ball with a club is the 
first object of each sportsman but the baseball is flying 
in the air at the time of impact and the golf ball is 
stationary at one's feet. Force is the dominant idea of 
the baseball player, while control and placement give the 
ideal golf shot. Strength lies in the palm and such a 
grip may produce a mighty swatter, but the more 
delicate sense of control lies in the fingers. 

When I first began to play I used the palm grip with 
my thumbs over and around the shaft, and it is fair to 
say that I played rather successfully with this grip, 
because I was then in school and had plenty of time for 
practice. One day, however, Jack Sellers, a splendid 
iron player, suggested that I try putting my thumbs 
down the shaft for iron shots. This act put the grip in 
the fingers and for the first time the touch-sense of golf 
was revealed to me. Without hesitation I threw away 
the work of years and began to practice my new method. 
Shortly afterwards my iron shots became the best part 
of my game. I still used the palm grip for my wooden 
clubs because the thumbs straight down the shaft 
checked the full swing on the back stroke. 



312 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Harry Vardon has corrected that error, and I had 
spent a long, painful period putting my new theory 
into practice, but it was worth all that it cost me. 

As soon as I had conquered the new method, I began 
to " feel " the wooden clubs as I did my irons, and 
knew that I had advanced another step towards a sim- 
plified game. I had learned, too, that not only the 
quickened sense of touch made the change desirable, 
but there was also the actual fact that the palm allowed 
a great deal of play to the grip of the club, while the 
firm grip of the fingers held it in steady control. 

The finger grip, also called the double V grip, 
because, when properly taken, the forefinger and thumb 
of each hand form a sort of V on the shaft of the club, 
is accomplished by grasping the club firmly with the 
thumb and the small joint of the forefinger of the left 
hand, allowing the other three fingers to find a natural 
position about the shaft on the left side of which is the 
thumb. Then the right hand grasps the club below the 
left, with the fingers, the thumb and forefinger forming 
another V. There are several well-known variations of 
this grip. 

In the overlapping, or Vardon grip, the tip of the 
little finger of the right hand is placed on the knuckle 
of the forefinger of the left hand, and the ball of the 
right thumb is placed over the left thumb. The inten- 
tion of this grip is to make the two hands work as one, 
for there is always a chance that they may work against 
each other. Vardon prefers this grip. 

In the interlocking grip, which is another attempt 
to make the two hands work as one, the forefinger of 
the left hand is interlocked with the little finger of the 




Upper left hand corner: On the way up. (Notice distance of hands 
from body.) Upper right: Correct position of right elbow. Lower 
left: Top of swing. Lower right: The finish of the drive. 




Snapped at Pinehurst in 1911. The picture shows how the 
right elbow is up instead of being fairly close to the side, a style 
Evans employs at present. 




"~ s 

J** 










The little flick at the top of the stroke that is so clearly shown 
by the blur on the club head is the necessary feature of every good 
golf stroke. 




Just after a full brassie shot, 
the bent position of the arms. 



A very good position. Observe 



Shots and How to Make Them 313 

right hand. Both of these grips have been used success- 
fully. 

My own grip is the plain finger grip, with my fingers 
placed firmly and closely together. I have at times con- 
sidered adopting the Vardon grip, but as my own is 
satisfactory I dislike to change. It is in accordance with 
my belief that all golfers should have the same general 
fundamental methods of play, but details should be 
adapted to the individual. In all grips the wrists should 
be loose, not rigid. 

My grip is the same for every shot in golf except the 
putt, which is a stroke bearing no relation whatever to 
any other in golf. 

I grip my wooden clubs about the middle of the 
leather; my cleek, midiron, jigger and mashie at the top. 
My stopum is gripped in all three places according to the 
distance to be made, at the top for full shots, middle 
for half shots and the lower end for quarter shots. I 
am not sure that this matters, but I have found it a 
comfortable habit and a successful one. 

My struggle with grips had taught me an important 
thing. The games of boyhood, such as football, are 
fighting games with brute force dominant and every 
muscle tense to meet or attack opponents, but golf is 
a game of matched skill, played with firm but relaxed 
muscles and with rhythmic movement. 

THE ADDRESS 

Addressing the ball is getting properly ready to make 
the stroke. I define right address as an adjustment of 
weight that results in a feeling of comfort. It seems 



314 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

impossible to take position for the stroke, placing the 
feet on the line for the square stance, or a bit back for 
the open, without a feeling of great discomfort that 
tightens every muscle and turns a firm grip into a rigid 
vise. 

When I get up to address the ball I stand with my 
feet close together holding the club loosely in my hand. 
Then standing rather well back I place the head or 
blade of my club behind the ball at right angles to the 
imaginary direction line that leads through the ball to 
the hole. The sole of my club is flat, neither toe nor heel 
on: the ground. I am also careful not to place my club 
too near the ball, for in the process of adjustment I 
might accidentally turn it over, thereby losing a stroke 
under the rules. The position of the clubhead in the 
right spot behind the ball is held loosely with one or 
both hands. 

You do not grip the club and take your stance before 
putting the clubhead down because you want to be 
sure that your clubhead will be in a position to hit the 
]3all smoothly with no dipping corners to dig into the 
ground, or otherwise interfere with your stroke. This 
proper placing of the clubhead preliminary to making 
the shot is a very important thing because the face of 
the club must be exactly at right angles with the imag- 
inary line of direction, and any variation from that 
angle will mean a hook or slice. 

The clubhead once in position you advance somewhat 
and take the proper grip, the hands and clubhead being 
even. Bring your feet up to a comfortable position and 
carefully adjust them. Then, after a preparatory wag- 
gle you will be ready to strike the blow., 



Shots and How to Make Them 315 
THE STANCE 

Stance as understood by golfers (right handed) is 
the position of the feet when the golf shot is made. The 
common varieties are: The square, the open, and the 
left-foot-in-front-of-the-right. The square stance serves 
as a standard for the other variations. It is taken with 
the feet well apart so placed that a straight line from 
toe to toe will be parallel with an imaginary line from 
the ball to the hole. In the open stance the left foot is 
placed back of the imaginary line. 

The left-foot-in-front-of-the-right is described by its 
name, and is rarely seen. I have seen it used on the 
tee and with other wooden shots, and some players get 
a hooked ball by putting the left foot forward and 
advance the right for the slice. The left foot in advance 
makes the stroke too rounded for iron play, and I have 
never seen a good iron player with that kind of a stance. 

A great many fine players use the square stance exclu- 
sively, but this also seems too rounded for iron play. 

The open stance is generally considered the best and 
its use is almost universal. It allows greater freedom 
in the use of the arms and also accommodates itself bet- 
ter to every detail of the stroke than either of the other 
stances. 

My own stance is open varying, however, for differ- 
ent shots; almost square in the drive and practically 
wide open for the mashie and chip shot. I consider it 
the same stance accommodated to my comfort. I lay 
great stress upon comfort, and I advise the beginner 
always to consider it, for a comfortable stance is the 
stepping stone to rhythm and every good golf stroke is 



316 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

rhythmic. Do not, however, confound the lack of ease 
in the unaccustomed, which wears away when the adjust- 
ment is completed, with the natural discomfort of a 
wrong stance. 

I always take a provisional stance, and carefully 
avoiding any stiffness or rigidity of muscle, extend my 
arms full length. Then I adjust my feet in easy com- 
fort and then indulge in a preparatory wiggle for relax- 
ation. You are ready for the stroke as soon as the body 
has found an easy, free position. 

I always play with my toes pointed out. I believe 
that among other advantages it helps to grip the ground. 
Once when playing very poorly I discovered that my 
feet were too straight, in fact almost pigeon-toed. I 
pointed my toes out and almost immediately my game 
improved. If your toes are perfectly straight, or the 
least bit pigeon-toed you cannot pivot properly. But 
if you have them equally turned out your stroke will 
be a little rounded or flat. Therefore to get an upright 
swing, with the least bit of slice spin at the end of the 
shot if necessary, I point out the left toe more than the 
right. It allows me to get my pivot and the brace of 
the left knee very easily. It also serves as a help in 
applying my weight and strength to the ball and gives 
more purchase to the right foot from which the stroke 
is made. In other words the more pointed left foot 
allows a free and splendid follow-through, an easier 
brace to the left knee, and the fullest application of 
strength. 

Like many other young players I firmly believed at 
one time that a stance should be taken with mathematical 
precision. Often and often did I try the patience of 



Shots and How to Make Them 317 

good and obliging players by asking them to take their 
stance, and then after careful watching I would attempt 
to place my feet in the very spot where theirs had been. 
Never did I find the result worth the trouble. I am 
convinced this idea of an exact stance is wrong. 

A good golf stroke does not necessarily proceed from 
a geometrical diagram. It is a rhythmic movement that 
flows through body and club. How to produce it must 
vary somewhat for every short, medium, tall, thin, or 
fat man for the stance must give comfort and relaxa- 
tion and the legs and feet must not interfere with the 
stroke. Therefore I lay stress upon a comfortable 
stance, slightly open, or nearly square, for the full 
shots, open for the half and quarter shots, and the 
shorter the shot desired the closer the feet must be 
brought together. 

THE FORWARD PRESS 

I consider the " forward press " so important a part 
of every golf stroke as to call for a description apart 
from the stroke itself. I might say that it ushers in 
every stroke, Immediately before starting the stroke 
I press forward on the club until my hands are a little 
in advance of the clubhead. The weight of the body 
is thrown a little back on the right leg and the left heel 
slightly raised. In this position the hands are a few 
inches in advance of the clubhead, which lies upon the 
ground and acts as a center of a circle, a small arc of 
which is described by the drawing forward and back 
of the hands. Then the clubhead is raised when the 
shaft is back of the perpendicular and whatever stroke 
desired is made, for I use it even with my putts. 



318 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

THE DEIVE 

The drive is the first stroke played in a round of golf, 
and for that reason, I suppose, it is the first stroke 
taught the beginner It is played with the longest 
wooden club, and it gets the greatest distance. There 
is, too, an indescribable thrill and sense of freedom 
about a well-hit wooden shot proceeding in long, arrowy 
flight through the air. And yet, the beginner usually 
finds the iron club easier, and in consequence neglects 
the driver and brassie for so long a time that he never 
realty conquers them. This is a great pity for the 
wooden shot is really the easiest of the game, but it does 
require courage to face the initial difficulty and patience 
to forego the temporary but deceitful, advantage of an 
iron club from the tee. That club is for very special 
work of its own, and it can never take the place of a 
wooden club on a first class course in first class condition. 

We have seen a good deal of iron from the tee in 
America because our courses are often so dry in sum- 
mer that a long iron shot can get enough roll at the end 
to reach the desired spot, but any such advantage must 
occupy a temporary position in a man's game. 

I learned my iron clubs first, but my reasons for doing 
this were different from those of the average player. 
One was because it was a long time before I possessed 
a wooden club, and another because Harry Turpie, the 
first professional I knew at the Edgewater Club, was 
a very fine iron player and I desired to emulate him. 
Later on I adopted the same stroke for both wooden 
and irons, with variations, of course, and no detriment 
resulted to my wooden game as a result of my beginning 
with irons. 



Shots and How to Make Them 319 

My method of driving is as follows : The first thing 
that I do when I get on the tee for my drive is to take 
my niblick and swing it once or twice. It is the heaviest 
club in my bag and after handling it any driver feels 
light. Immediately afterwards I take my driver and 
swing it a couple of times, or until the wrist is supple, 
and when it is sufficiently so the clubhead ought to 
swing like a weight on the end of a string. I stand 
with my feet close together and holding my club loosely 
in my hand, place the clubhead back of the ball at right 
angles to the direction line, that is the imaginary line 
passing through the ball to the hole. I am very careful 
to see that the sole of my club is flat on the ground, 
neither toe or heel dipping. Keeping my club in this 
position, and holding it in both hands, I take my stance, 
which is either almost square, or slightly open, as you 
care to call it. At any rate my left toe is perhaps an 
inch behind the straight line which could be drawn 
from toe to toe in the square stance. I play my ball 
off the left heel, or between that and a point directly 
between the feet. 

While holding the provisional stance I stretch out my 
arms to test for stiffness. Then I waggle for relaxation, 
and with that I sink into the comfortable stance from 
which the shot is made. This is not to be precisely deter- 
mined, merely approximately square, and certainly com- 
fortable. 

In this comfortable position I press forward on the 
club until my hands are brought somewhat, in advance 
of the clubhead. I then draw my hands back and then 
the clubhead backward along the direction line for a 
short distance and lift it with a curving swing upward 



320 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

and backward, my hands leading until the turning point 
(which is at the beginning of the twist in the waist) 
when for the fraction of a moment they are on the same 
line, a position they do not occupy again until the ball 
is struck. In making the shot I try to fancy that I am 
describing a circle with my clubhead as a gigantic pencil, 
the upward and backward swing being one arc, and the 
downward and backward the other, and I try to make 
both arcs the same. I think that a player should partic- 
ularly avoid " looping " his shot, that is making the 
upward arc on one line and the descending one on 
another. 

When my club reaches the ground it moves straight 
on the ground for a little distance and then passes 
inside the imaginary line of direction. Both ascending 
and descending arcs should be within the direction line. 
The blow is snappy and the whole movement should 
flow rhythmically along the body, arms, hands, shafts 
and clubhead to the ball. This rhythmic flow of move- 
ment is the ideal towards which the golfer must work. 
I add a warning here that if the ball is hit too hard 
work is taken from the clubhead and timing is lost. I 
shall have something to say farther on about timing. 

I believe that the real strength of the body is thrown 
into the clubhead as it strikes the ball, and I think it 
very important that at the moment of impact the whole 
strength of the body be thrown into the ball. The 
thought I ask you to bear in mind is to be sure to get 
the clubhead on the ball before you put the real bod}- 
strength into the shot. 

There is something about the rustling air in a high 
wind that tends to unsteady a player and make him 



Shots and How to Make Them 321 



" rush " his shots. That is, he tries to hit the ball too 
hard and in the attempt the full force of his strength 
is somehow dissipated before the meeting of clubhead 
and ball, and in consequence the hands are forced down- 
ward and a slice results. 

The swing should be considered as a whole with two 
equal parts. When you go back your right elbow is 
in your right side — your left arm almost straight; 
when you follow through your left elbow is in your left 
side and your right arm almost straight. On the back- 
ward swing the right knee braces, and in the follow 
through the left knee does the same work. 

For several years I have kept a golf diary in which 
I have tried to jot down at the end of a day what I 
thought I had learned from my practice. I add here 
now a few observations on wooden shots. I noticed on 
a few of these shots that a real blow followed by a full 
follow through gave me a splendid ball. Feel yourself 
behind the ball as it were ; feel the club in your fingers ; 
hit the ball upwards. When you are slicing it is because 
you do not follow through bent enough. 

There is no mistaking when you hit the ball with the 
real rhythm. Young golfers are apt to be too strong 
in the swing, but golf is a game where brute force can- 
not make the clubhead do its proper work. It is sur- 
prising how much of the job a clubhead properly intro- 
duced into the ball does. Do not swing ahead of your 
clubhead; that is like a prizefighter who punches you 
without getting his weight behind the blow. It is inac- 
curate placing of the clubhead at the time of impact 
that invariably makes you get your hands ahead of your 
clubhead. All the strength in the world would not push 



322 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

a ball far if you have not waited for the clubhead to 
do its share in the work. Do not try to do so much of 
the work yourself, but hold tight in the fingers is a good 
little hint that I discovered the other day. 

Constantly in my notes I find the same warning, such 
as, " My tee shots yesterday were all right. The trou- 
ble of the day before was that I did not get my clubhead 
through, and that I was trying to do most of the work 
myself. ' ' 

Be sure to hit into the imaginary line. Hit the ball 
sharply, too, and don't hold on too long. Be sure not 
to fall back from the fall forward if anything. Don't 
forget to press that left leg back, and let the arms go 
through in a bent follow through. There is a great 
deal of importance in the position of the hands on the 
follow through of these fast, modern balls. I think that 
we should try for the " all carry " shot, with a little 
suggestion of a slice, and therefore your right hand is 
not turned over as you go through. Rather it stays 
under until the ball is well under way, and gradually 
turns over from then on in the natural course of the 
swing. 

I take great care not to get my weight ahead of the 
shot, and I hit distinctly from the take-off at the end 
of my back stroke. Do not straighten your left arm 
out stiffly, for it will give you a tendency to sweep the 
ball off the tee rather than hit it off, and maybe the 
hands will precede the clubhead. My tip is to let the 
left arm bend just a little bit at the end, not much, but 
enough to feel the rhythm, and that you are going to 
hit the ball. 

All golf methods should be employed approximately, 



Shots and How to Make Them 323 

for the physique of every player differs slightly and the 
manner of playing must vary a bit, too. When you feel 
the clubhead like a weight it will dip a little at the end 
of the back stroke, instead of being on a straight line. 
This gives a more relaxed wrist, better rhythm and more 
slap of the clubface and ball impact — which in turn 
gives st smoother flight and more pace to the ball. Be- 
cause I had in mind making the two halves of the 
stroke the same I corrected the follow through by not 
letting the right arm finish too stiffly. 

At another time I tried out a simple experiment. I 
swung at a ball in the dark and hit it squarely in spite 
of not being able to see that the club was squared 
properly. The shot felt good, but not seeing the ball 
fly produced a queer sensation, but I found it right up 
the course, where it should have been, about 225 yards 
from the tee. Then I hit the ball quite well with the 
midiron, taking a little divot. I examined the course 
of the clubhead by this means and concluded that the 
ball should be only a few feet from the hole. I walked 
through the pitch darkness and found it there. 

The lesson taught by this is that after the player has 
examined his descent and direction he should give all 
his attention to the method of hitting the ball. Too many 
people want to see where the ball is going, and the result 
of such curiosity is a messed-up shot. While a player 
is walking up to get the shot he gets a mental picture of 
where his best shot is going. After that he need only 
pay attention to the way he hits it. 

I heard that at one time Willie Anderson drove three 
balls to the green, 200 yards away, eyes blindfolded ; his 
club was faced in the right direction by Gil Nichols. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

CLUBS AND HOW TO USE THEM 

Brassie play one of judgment — Jigger a useful 
club — Niblick hints from a diary — Fast ball 
drives out the mashie — Champion gets and gives 
tips on putting. 

THE BRASSIE 

The brassie comes next to the driver as a distance- 
getting club. It receives its name from the brass plate 
covering its sole, and this covering is necessary because 
the brassie has much rougher work on the fairway than 
the driver has on the tee, and for the same reason it has 
a stiffer shaft. The important difference between the 
two clubs lies in the pitch and loft of the face, that of 
the brassie slanting backward and that of the driver 
being almost straight. This slanting face of the brassie 
enables it to lift the ball in a way impossible for the 
driver. The latter club, however, obtains something of 
the lofting power of the brassie from the tee from which 
it is played. 

The stance for the brassie is the stance for the driver. 
The swing and grip of the club are also the same except 
that the grip should be firmer because this club comes 
in frequent contact with rough ground when playing 
from a bad lie. A brassie player must give a great deal 
of attention to his manner of hitting the ball. If it has 

324 



Clubs and How to Use Them 325 

a fairly good lie it can be hit easily and rhythmically 
without any attempt to dig under it, for you can trust 
the loft of the face to pick the ball up if the stroke is 
made as it should be. 

A great fault in brassie play is a tendency to try to 
get under the ball and the only result is badly torn-up 
turf. When the ball is badly cupped the first impulse 
is to use an iron, but if the situation really requires a 
brassie shot play it no matter how strong the iron temp- 
tation may prove. If the ball is lying fairly well the 
stroke with the brassie is practically as it is from the 
tee; skim the turf closely and the loft of the club will 
pick the ball up and give it proper height for the dis- 
tance. The swing should reach its maximum speed just 
as it comes in contact with the ball, but the shot is spoiled 
if one tries to get too much power into it. The club 
must do its own work. 

When the ball is badly cupped brassie play presents 
a problem that is particularly difficult for a player 
accustomed to use too high a tee, for a brassie shot usu- 
ally follows a shot from the tee and the difference in 
height between a ball teed too high and one cupped on 
the fairway strikes one sharply and to the detriment of 
the shot. In playing a cupped ball with a brassie one 
should deliberately aim at a point, a half inch, or an 
inch, behind the ball and bring the club to the ground 
there. Coming down at this point the turf will be 
pushed along and the clubhead sent under the ball at 
moment of contact. Most players think that they must 
try to scoop the ball out of the cup, but such an attempt 
usually results in smothering the clubhead in the ground 
and getting little, or no distance. 



326 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Of course the ball may be so badly cupped that the 
shot cannot be made in the orthodox way with a brassie, 
and an iron should then be used. The question is one 
of good judgment. There are experienced players, how- 
ever, who always stick to the brassie in spite of badly 
cupped lies. In such case the club must be held in an 
absolutely firm grip, and the ground should be taken 
about two inches back of the ball. A follow through 
with such a shot is very difficult but should be tried for. 

THE SPOON 

There is another wooden club called the spoon which 
I carry and consider very valuable. It is used for shots 
a bit too short for a brassie and a little too long for an 
iron. This club is played practically the same as the 
brassie, except that being shorter you must stand some- 
what nearer the ball. It is a good club for a distance 
from 190 to 215 yards. 

THE CLEEK 

The eleek, a slender-bladed iron club, with a slight 
loft and a consequent low flight, is the longest iron club 
in the player 's bag. It is a very good club under certain 
conditions for a second shot and is capable of consider- 
able distance. I think that I can make over 215 yards 
with it. I play this club almost exactly like my wooden 
clubs. The blade is put down so that it lies naturally, 
placed carefully at right angles to the direction line. 
Some professional players turn the blade out a little. I 
do not. 

My stance is a little open. Avoid standing over the 
ball too much. If you want a lower ball, however, stand 



Clubs and How to Use Them 327 

over it a little more, being careful to guard against inter- 
ference. Always have your toes turned out a little 
because it helps you to pivot. 

I grip the club lightly, exercising care in placing the 
left thumb on the right hand side of the shaft — not 
straight down on top. Avoid a tight grip. It produces 
sore muscles, and interferes with the work of the club- 
head. Whenever you find yourself out of rhythm loosen 
your grip. 

The stroke begins with shoulders facing the front. At 
the end of backward stroke shoulders are at right angles 
to front view. At the finish shoulders are again at 
right to front. On backward swing keep right elbow 
in, close to the body, to get a sort of " take-off " for 
the downward stroke. Make the descent down a line 
that will bring clubhead and ball together at right 
angles to the direction line. If you swing inside, or 
outside of this you will be in for trouble. Consider 
your club a pencil with which you have drawn the up- 
ward line, and retrace the line coming down. Play the 
ball just a little back of a straight line drawn from the 
left heel. 

When the clubhead has hit the ball carry it on with 
the follow through, the left elbow coming into the right 
side giving a bent follow through. The head of the 
club must be thrown as if it were a weight on the end 
of a string, and it must follow through enough to pull 
it back on the upstroke of the finish. The distance of 
the back stroke is regulated by letting your left aria 
almost straighten out, being careful not to dip deeply 
at the end. 

When playing into the wind, hit the ball crisply and 



328 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

hard. In the follow through let your left knee be 
braced, and let your follow through go forward into 
the wind a little so that the ball will have a little lower 
flight. 

I add a few notes from the diary kept on cleek prac- 
tice: Just let the left arm straighten out. If you don't 
get the " break " you are perhaps swinging too short. 
Look out for that hitting with the body first. 

Be careful that you do not pull across the imaginary 
line and hit the ball on the toe. Slap them fast. Feel 
the take-off, as it were, at the end of the upstroke. 

If you follow through with more of the right hand 
under stroke you get a higher flight, and that is what 
you want. 

Don't be too quick about making a shot. That brace 
of the left leg is a bully good thing. Don't try to do 
all the work yourself. Remember the all-arms stroke. 

THE MIDIRON 

The midiron is another useful club and I play it for 
~all shots within what is called a midiron distance. This 
varies with different players — to me it means from 
170 to 190 yards. In this connection I quote here from 
my diary of practice a statement of fact that should be 
impressed upon the mind of every golfer: It is only 
through practice that one learns the carrying power of 
each club, and when once learned consistent use should 
be made of the knowledge. Many a shot has been 
spoiled by a man who stood hesitating beside his ball. 
I make a practice of sizing up the position of my ball 
while walking up to it, and before I reach it I have an 
idea which club I am going to use. 




Top of a half mashie shot. 






Finishing a low cleek shot. 




End of the back stroke in a full iron shot. Note the straight- 
ened right knee, position of left shoulder, and also length of back 
stroke. 




The perfect finish of a full " dedstop " or cut shot. Study this 
picture carefully. 



Clubs and How to Use Them 329 

When a golfer has determined the distance he can get 
out of a club without pressing he should adhere to it. 
Devote each club to its own distance. 

I play the midiron as I do the driver, and the best 
that I can do in the way of tips and further explana- 
tion of the shot is to quote from my diary. It is a 
record of mistakes made, faults corrected, and little dis- 
coveries made about my shots. I seem to have written 
a great deal about my iron play. 

If you are hooking too much watch the position of 
the ball off your left foot. Don't stand too open, because 
you hit down and fall away and around with it. You 
must hit that ball in the centre of the club, and then 
your hands will tighten up unconsciously on the stroke. 
Do not swing so rounded. Swing more uprightly. You 
must roll those wrists, too, if you want success. Watch 
that chip of sod. 

Hit down into the ball rather than up. Don't turn 
that toe in. Remember the take-off and the bent follow 
through. To get away from hooking give a more up- 
right follow through. Right hand under a little bit — 
and hit. That low back stroke is very successful. Try 
that. Watch out for ■ - that body ahead of the shot." 
Be sure to hit the ball, and for the love of Mike, don't 
fail on the bent follow through. 

Go back young man and do the low back and up 
swing, and the resulting clubhead whip. Get the ball 
clearly and your wrists will respond neatly. 

Take a chip of sod for it helps a great deal. The 
greatest thing is to swing independently with the arms 
and with the hands coming back first. It isn't very 
necessary to take turf when you have a good lie. The 



330 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

blade seems to meet the ball more at right angles when 
you take turf. I have a notion that the ball offers very 
little resistance to the flying iron, and the meeting of 
the clubhead and turf just slows the head up enough to 
make the wrists work harder and more crisply against 
heavier resistance. The divot should be small. Be sure 
not to let the clubhead stop as in the case of a stab or 
a big divot, but nicely clip a little piece of sod and go 
on to a perfect follow through. If nervous it is a great 
help to take sod. 

Too tight a grip. I move my body too much. Let 
that clubhead swing low and back, and pass that blade 
through the ball, and for heaven's sake don't keep fall- 
ing away from them. Keep hitting them into the line, 
and you will get it. Let the arms swing back more fully 
outstretched. Can you feel the ' i break ' ' ? 

Don't turn the blade in so much. Don't hold onto 
them so long. Snap them off quickly. Don't bend your 
body over so much that you interfere with the stroke. 

Don't tell me that blade isn't useful. I was putting 
them up in great shape with that pass through shot. 
Sweep it off the ground as well as you can. 

Don't try to hit them too hard into the wind. Then 
more than any time the rhythm should be perfect, and 
when it is wind doesn't matter. 

That loose grip used on the full shots with the iron 
was a great help; it tended to relax tense parts of my 
body. When having trouble just try hitting the ball 
a little easier for a while. This enables you to get the 
clubhead into the shot easier, and when you feel the ball 
hitting the surface cleanly your confidence comes back 
and gradually you can apply more strength. Always 



Clubs and How to Use Them 331 

remember that weather and grass conditions are just 
as hard for the other fellow as for you. 

Stand up fairly well. Use that three-quarter stroke 
if you want to. Watch the execution of the shot. Keep 
the body still and swing almost entirely with clubhead 
and arms. Oh, that clubhead! Elbows in and hit 
towards your object. Nice height to shots to-day. and 
steady flight. You must feel that little break of the 
wrists. Brace back on the knee, go forward with the 
follow through. Hit the ball distinctly. Don 't be jerky 
at the wrists. 

Always think of hitting before starting the second 
quarter of your stroke. I try to think of the swing in 
halves, and not to start the second half until the first 
has been completed. 

These notes from my diary I have found very helpful, 
and they have seen me through many an uncertain 
moment. "Whatever I have said about full irons applies 
to wooden clubs as well. 

A good thought to keep in mind when playing a full 
midiron shot is to be sure to complete the stroke. If 
you do that it is almost certain that the club will do 
its share of the work, in fact you can not follow through 
properly unless the clubhead leads. I do this best by 
following through with my left elbow against my body. 
This is what I term the bent follow through. This may 
not look so picturesque as standing, after one has played, 
with arms and club extended in one straight line, but 
according to my judgment it is the ideal follow through. 

I hit into the imaginary direction line and give the 
ball the quickest snap possible. This quick snap must 
be made smoothlv and with loose wrists. It must not 



332 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

be a regular snap, but must be done with perfect tim- 
ing. The snap gives a sort of a throw of the clubhead 
at the right time. Don't stab the ball. The clubhead 
must go through the turf and into the imaginary line 
with the broken follow through. I sometimes fancy that 
I am chasing the ball into the imaginary line and that 
works very well, too. 

THE JIGGER 

The jigger is a very useful club ; it is middle-lofted, 
and in my set of clubs I have done away with all other 
middle-lofts. The trouble with most golfers is that they 
try too many different blades, or lofts and there is too 
much consequent strain in calculating the effects of 
shots. 

I find my jigger extremely handy ; it is an important 
part of my strictly revised, up-to-date play. I use it 
instead of a midiron when I am going down wind, and 
whenever I wish a high ball with as little roll as possible 
for the midiron distance. I also use it to the exclusion 
of any other club for run-up shots because a ball runs 
better from a straighter-faeed club. 

I play my jigger as far as stance and swing are con- 
cerned practically the same as a full mashie shot, so 
my years of assiduous mashie practice were not lost. 

From my diary I get this about my jigger practice: 
Let the blade lie naturally. Take care not to loop the 
descent and pull the shots over to one side. Remember 
the short blow. Feel the finish of the stroke. I just 
kept hitting them into the line and didn't care whether 
they went far. There was certainly " medium " on that 



Clubs and How to Use Them 333 

follow through. Not too far forward, or too far back- 
ward. That right hand under finish was very helpful. 
I found that I was falling away from these shots, and 
as a result they were going every way but the right one. 

THE MASHIE 

For years the mashie was the all-important club in my 
bag, and I used it for an extraordinary number of 
shots. As a boy I was rarely seen without one in my 
hand, and my first reputation at golf was built upon 
a foundation of mashie play. At that time the approach 
with the mashie was one of the master shots of the 
game and I spent hours assiduously acquiring it. The 
blade of my club became thin and smooth from con- 
stant practice, and I suffered a chill of terror whenever 
I thought that following the ways of earthly things the 
time approached when its usefulness would be ended. 
No club was ever so dear to me and my skill in its use 
was my greatest pleasure and pride. It seemed impos- 
sible for me to imagine a game without a mashie, but 
my greatest fear was that something might happen to 
my own particular mashie, the tried and true friend 
of my boyhood. 

Each year, however, the manufacturers were making 
faster balls and adding to the trials of the mashie 
player. I practiced hard to keep pace with them and 
to considerable extent I succeeded; even after the balls 
had become very fast I could impart backspin to them 
with a mashie. I refused to be discouraged. But, when 
the balls diminished in size as they advanced in rapidity 
it did not need a prophet to tell me that a new club was 
required to keep up with the liveliness of the modern 



334 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

ball. It was a bitter blow, but I accepted the inevit- 
able, and now I confess with sadness that my mashie 
is a club of restricted use. The stopuni and the jigger 
have usurped its place. 

I play it only for full shots, and I play those accord- 
ing to my system of simplification, exactly as I do my 
woodens, with an almost square stance and the same 
swing. On a windless day I play my mashie all the 
time in preference to a jigger, and I play it with the 
wind for a normal jigger distance. More and more 
judgment seems to be required in the selection of clubs 
for the work to be done. Each individual stroke pre- 
sents a new problem and its solution is an individual 
thing. 

THE STOPUM 

The stopum was the logical answer to the problem of 
the modern ball, for that resilient creation was refusing 
to be controlled by our old clubs. The mashie, once so 
reliable, was failing us; the decreasing size of the ball 
made it harder than ever to get under it properly for 
the backspin, and I found to my dismay that well as I 
had learned the shot I was half-hitting about one in 
three. The club could not be made to meet the little 
ball properly. Something different was required. 

I first experimented with my niblick, and I really think 
I mastered the shot as far as that club would take me, 
for I won the Western Amateur at Grand Rapids in 
1914, averaging less than 71% strokes for twelve rounds 
and nearly won the National Open at Midlothian that 
year. I could put a straight backspin on the ball with 
the niblick. The mashie cut-shot as I played it was an 
emphasized slicespin which dropped a little to the left 



Clubs and How to Use Them 335 

of the pin and always kicked to the right. The niblick 
backspin was " deader." Time taught me, however, 
that it was particularly hard to get distances with it, 
and equally hard to judge them. I wanted a club that 
would drop a ball dead on the green, and that winter I 
experimented with corrugated-faced clubs and I was 
convinced that they did the work. Skilled players can 
produce backspin with any kind of a club, but the cor- 
rugated face makes it easier and more dependable. 

I sent my mashie and my niblick to the factory with 
instructions to make me three clubs with corrugated 
faces, and all the blades shaped like my niblick. One 
club was to be lofted like my niblick, one like my 
mashie, and the third was to be lofted between the two. 
My object was to find a club sufficiently lofted for 
backspin, and not too lofted for judgment of distance. 

The factory did its work well, and after careful test- 
ing of each club I found that the only one that I could 
use was the club with a loft midway between a mashie 
and niblick. 

The next step was to learn to play the shot, and it is 
a difficult one. The first thing that I discovered was 
its limitations. I could not get backspin on shots under 
fifty yards, and it was disastrous to try to force it 
bej^ond 150. It should never be used in a bunker for 
the dirt and sand even out the corrugations and defeat 
the object of the shot. 

My stance and swing for the stopum are practically 
the same as those for my wooden clubs, but my stroke 
is shorter, and the blow, perhaps a little quicker. I 
brace the left knee for the follow through and play 
boldly, for the tendency of this club is to play short. 



330 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

If the lie permits I take a little turf. I think that I 
get better direction if I hold my body still on the back- 
stroke, instead of twisting it around. With a more up- 
right swing I get a better flight, and this is desirable 
because the lower flight is easier judged. 

The lighter the grip of the stopum the more baekspin, 
but also the more difficult it is to hit accurately. 

One should be careful of the loft of the blade at the 
time it hits the ball, otherwise it is hard to judge the 
shot. Try to use hands as exact centre of circle at time 
of impact. I grip all my clubs with my lingers, but 
the stopum most particularly so, in fact I really press 
down the club with them in order to make the feeling 
more pronounced. 

THE NIBLICK 

Every golfer feels that he is only too well accustomed 
to the use of the niblick, for his groans have gone forth 
from the aching depths of his heart and the sandy 
depths of many a bunker. It is the club associated above 
all else with bunkers, bad lies, deep holes and sand traps. 
Its blade is laid the farthest back of all the clubs, and 
that means that it is capable of making the least 
distance. 

Some players confine their use of the niblick almost 
entirely to bunker shots, but I use it for " cut " shots 
and very bad lies. I play the niblick in two ways — the 
high, dead-dropping shot, and the straight line cut shot 
with a low follow through. The high shot is a difficult 
one to judge, but the easier one to play. The cut shot 
gives a low trajectory and a complete baekspin, but it 
is a dangerous shot unless accurately struck. 



Clubs and How to Use Them 337 

The niblick lay idle in my bag for a long time, for 
I could net make it go. It is my firm belief, however, 
that all clubs should be played from their natural lie, 
and I grew tired of turning back the blade of my mashie 
each time in order to get a cut spin. 

I found that one of my troubles in playing the niblick 
came from resting too much on my heels. It is very 
important, too, to get the lie of the club just right. Let 
the clubhead pass through the ball. Swing your arms; 
keep your elbows in; feel the " break "; press that left 
knee. You can get a lower trajectory, and better direc- 
tion if you stand over the ball. 

I have found the hints from my diary concerning the 
playing of this club particularly illuminating, and I 
pass them on. Sort of pinch the grip with the tips of 
the fingers of your right hand. Point your left toe out 
towards the hole. If you follow through more you will 
get a low flight. Be sure to make the hands act as a 
moving centre of a circle, but Lordy ! don 't top one ! The 
blow must fee crisp. Don't let .the nose of your club 
slide away from you. Stand more nearly square, if you 
please, and don't loosen hands at point of contact. 

In those bunker shots the thing to do is to hit down 
into the sand instead of sweeping through it. It is a 
horrible mistake not to let the clubhead push right 
through the sand as if it were a ball. Stand close to 
that ball. Be bold with the shot. 

In the long run it is best just to try to get out of the 
bunker with the niblick. Many a stroke has been lost 
by trying td get too much distance. It is a question for 
the judgment of the player, however; circumstances 
must dictate the action. 



338 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

The greatest trouble in a bunker shot is that the sand 
flies up into your eyes making you dizzy and you 
quit on your stroke. Never quit. 

In the fairway you must be careful not to drag on 
your shot, and you must take turf. 

THE PUTTER 

Getting the ball into the cup after it has reached the 
green is one of golf's greatest problems, and the stroke 
by which this act is accomplished differs radically from 
every other stroke in the game. I have not been able 
to fit it easily into my simplified method. I have seen 
good putters use successfully such widely varying 
strokes that I have come to fancy that confidence in 
what one is doing, and an understanding of one's indi- 
vidual limitations, are the really important factors in 
good putting. 

The clubs for putting vary as much as strokes and I 
think that I have used every one of each with more or 
less success. The pendulum stroke is the most popular 
in this country, Jerome Travers being its finest expon- 
ent, and there is no doubt that the logical club for that 
stroke is the centre-shafted putter, for a pendulum 
swings from a centre and is easily balanced. If the 
game of golf had consisted wholly of work upon the 
green it is very probable that a golf club would have 
been a centre-shafted implement, but as the largest and 
most interesting part was through the air it is easy to 
understand why a certain orthodox form of club would 
be retained throughout the game. And of course there 
are just as good putters with the orthodox club as with 



Clubs and How to Use Them 339 

the Schenectady, but they have probably overcome a few 
more difficulties. 

I give first the pendulum-swing putt, the most popu- 
lar and most generally successful method in use in this 
country. 

Stand with the feet fairly close together, with hands 
as close together as possible. "Whether one bends low, 
crouches over, or stands comparatively erect is entirely 
a matter of comfort. Swing the club entirely with the 
wrist, imitating the swing of the pendulum as faith- 
fully as possible. It is astonishing what good results 
are frequently obtained by this method. 

For years I practiced with a pendulum stroke using 
an ordinary Schenectady after I had most reluctantly 
adopted that club. But I was not satisfied for I was 
anxious to make my putting stroke as reliable as the 
others, and it seemed to me that almost no one was able 
to do that. A golfer appeared to regard a good putt 
as a gift from heaven, while a good drive was the result 
of a correct method. Therefore my constant change has 
been a quest for a comparatively certain method and 
whether I have yet found it I do not know. 

In 1916 I tried another method, and I won the two 
major championships of the year while employing it. I 
call it my first Knowlton Ames method. Point the left 
toe parallel with a line to the hole, and along the imag- 
inary line to the hole which passes just in front of my 
right foot. Then shift all the weight to the left foot, 
and putt with the arms over from my body. 

Immediately after I concluded to try this method of 
putting I find these extracts from my diary: 

1 ' I practiced it last night and it went splendid. Snake 



340 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

Ames and Jack Sellers were absolutely right about my 
keeping my arms too close to my body. I am fast gain- 
ing confidence. I must not pull that clubhead up, rather 
pull it more along the ground. Try to get a straight 
running putt — one that doesn 't lope off at the end. 

" My putting was a delight yesterday. I played the 
ball off the left foot and when I missed it was only by a 
fraction of an inch. 

" That hit into the front line drawing your club low 
along the line and following through the ball with an 
overspin is the whole secret. I have been hitting the 
ball too near the toe, too, and I am trying to cultivate 
the heel blow. Hold the clubhead loosely. 

" Think I discovered another very important idea for 
putting. Lay the club out a little, as some people do 
with their tee shots, if the shot is going to the left of 
the hole. Keep the ball away from the toe of the club- 
head. 

" Take the wrists back a little. 

' ' This morning I was terribly discouraged. Putt after 
putt saw me roll my wrists and still I couldn't stop it. 
I finally discarded my putter. Dave Foulis gave me 
his — a family heirloom. Mr. Revell impressed upon 
me that I should putt for a point on the other side of 
the hole still on the imaginary line. 

1 ' Hit the butt of the ball, follow through close to the 
ground. Watch your back stroke. 

" "Warren Wood said: ' Look here, Chick, the only 
way to putt is to hold the club loosely, and that will 
allow the clubhead to go through in the right way." 

" My 73 to-day was very encouraging, especially as 
I leave for the championship soon." 



Clubs and How to Use Them 341 

At another time I wrote in my diary: 

" The two-handed grip on the long approach putts 
seems to be the best ; the right hand alone on the 12-f oot- 
ers, and the left hand alone on the shorter ones. The 
most helpful idea I learned to-day was to keep the club- 
head on the ball, and then keep the stroke going on the 
imaginary line. 

" Do not use your hands as a fixed centre on those 
long putts. 

" On those long shots just swing your hands back a 
little and make your blow with a straight follow 
through. 

" I must not merely use my wrists as a pivot, for 
there is not rhythm to such a stroke — just a jab. 

" One thing I noticed yesterday, which was a big help, 
was that if I drew the hands back with the clubhead 
and brought them through with it I had the best results. 
To-day I think that the ideal putting stroke is the one 
wherein the wrists and arms are used together with the 
movements of the hands. 

" Let the putter head pass through the ball. This is 
very important. 

" Guess I'd better use the forward press in putting. 
Get in under those putts. Don't drag the follow through. 

1 ' Had a long argument with Mr. Ames on putting and 
decided to change my style. 

" There is one thing sure, you must hit them. I am 
keeping my eye directly over the ball, trying to form 
an imaginary triangle. I am keeping my clubhead on 
the ground so that I won't chop the stroke. I am work- 
ing on the theory that if the clubhead is lying on the 
imaginary line after the ball is hit it should go some- 



342 Chick Evans' Golf Book 

where near the hole. Be sure and have a loose grip on 
those run-up shots." 

I offer these extracts from my working diary because 
I have found them very useful to me when things went 
wrong. Sometimes one thing is the matter, and some- 
times another, and I have often found my particular 
remedy by referring to my working diary — a faithful 
transcript of daily practice. 

I had seen K. L. Ames putting with a very queer 
looking putter. He was doing it successfully, too, and 
it aroused my curiosity, for I had never seen such a 
golf club before. In June, 1920, I was visiting at Mr. 
Sabin's home on Long Island, and I found a putter just 
like Mr. Ames' in Mr. Sabin's closet. I asked him if 
I might try it, and he made me a present of it with 
suspicious alacrity. I practiced with it a bit trying out 
Mr. Ames' new method of putting, and I was rather 
pleased with the result. 

My first chance to try it in a tournament was at Mem- 
phis, Western Amateur, and it worked successfully. I 
expected a good deal of it at Toledo and was bitterly 
disappointed — I certainly missed all kinds with it. It 
worked all right at Roslyn. I putted well, but not 
exceptionally so, for I holed no long putts, or did any- 
thing remarkable. It seemed good and dependable, 
however. 

In 1920, still hard on my quest of the unattainable, I 
tried another putting stroke, which I call the Ames 
Method, No. 2. While using this stroke, whether as a 
result of it I do not know, I won the Western Amateur 
at Memphis, defeating Bobbie Jones on Bermuda grass 
greens, on which he had been trained, and to which 



Clubs and How to Use Them 343 

I was wholly unaccustomed; and the National Amateur 
at the Engineers ' Club at Rosiyn, where the greens 
were supposed to be particularly tricky and difficult. 
It may be of course that the effect was solely psycho- 
logical and the unusual putter and the new method 
were merely a means of tapping a reserve of knowledge 
and skill born of hours of practice over a period of 
years. 

This is the method: The ball is played off the left 
foot, and you play for a spot on the imaginary direc- 
tion about a foot in front of the ball. Take hands back 
with the clubhead, and with a little forward press at 
the beginning of the stroke. Be sure not to let the hands 
get ahead of a line vertical to the ball before the club- 
head hits the ball. Stand up on the long approach shots, 
and crouch down on the shorter ones. Feet together 
when standing up, and apart when crouching. 



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